


Lucky Strike

by 994527, JustLyra



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:39:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 37,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3320948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/994527/pseuds/994527, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLyra/pseuds/JustLyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the morning after the awards and Honda party for Marc..... Got drunk? - check. Sang karaoke? - check. Got fucked by someone he can't remember? - Check...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Morning After The Night Before

One eye half open, the other sticky and feeling like his eyelashes would be ripped out if he opened it, Marc groaned at the brightness of the early morning sunshine creeping into the room around the edge of the curtains. Dropping his legs out of the bed, his toes curling at the coldness of the floor, he plodded to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face until he dared open both eyes, sighing at the alcohol induced pain in his head, then staring in shock at the marks on his neck and body, wondering just what the fuck he'd done.

*

Jumping up and down, cursing first at the stinging in his lip, him not having thought about the pain that could come from combining broken skin with mint toothpaste, then from the aches vibrating through his body from the jumps, Marc sagged against the bathroom wall, smell on his skin giving him a vague recollection of someone else being close, presumably the owner of the teeth that had left his body littered with marks in varying shades of pink.

*

Sitting at the table Marc took a sip of coffee, carefully keeping the hot liquid away from the sore part of his lip, his tongue bizarrely addicted to poking the spot, as if he'd somehow suddenly discover that it had healed in the last twenty seconds and was no longer sore.

He knew several things for sure. He'd been to the awards and had drunk some champagne. He'd been to the Honda party, thrown for him and Alex, and he'd drunk more champagne and some beer. He also had hazy memories of other things, being at the bar with Alex, Dani and Tito, someone counting down from three and the four of them racing to swallow a sharp tasting shot, bright green in colour, or perhaps red, most likely, he concluded, both. He remembered bouncing off the wall coming into the motorhome, giggling about the fact that his old motorhome being 'come in, turn right' and the new one being 'come in, turn left' had seen him with a season long bruise on his right shoulder, but the memory of someone else giggling with him was new.

Blowing on his coffee Marc closed his eyes, trying to remember more, memories of karaoke, Alex dancing on the bar, Raul trying to persuade Dani not to climb the tree, Dani crying with laughter at discovering 'the tree' was inflatable, Nakamoto dancing, Livio smiling.... Then from nowhere was the memory of bundling into a dark room, probably an office, someone's hands on his hips, pressing him against the wall, a tongue in his mouth, the taste of cigarettes, champagne and beer being swirled between them.

He remembered a thump on the door, him laughing and pretending he'd been on the phone as Emilio slung an arm around his shoulders, dragged him back and tried to persuade him to make a speech. Then there were more shots and Alex nodding sagely, absolutely hammered, as Roser nagged him about not getting drunk, herself a little merry on champagne and the natural high of both of her boys winning.

Then Marc was suddenly outside, the cold metal of the temporary building freezing cold on an exposed strip of skin on his back. The hands were back on his hips, only this time the kiss was harder, Marc's tongue poked his sore lip as he remembered teeth nipping into it, tugging it as he whined. Shaking his head Marc got up to dump his cup in the sink, deciding a shower was the best option given his cock was already taking an interest in his memories.

*

Water bouncing against his face, his eyes closed and face looking up toward the showerhead, the water, typically for a motorhome, not quite powerful or scalding enough for Marc's liking. Rubbing the shower gel into his body he took note of where hurt and where didn't, separating them into season pains and new pains. Ignoring the season pains Marc rested his head against the glass screen, thinking about the new pains, other than the obvious marks where he'd been bitten they included a scratchy throat, perhaps attributable to karaoke, but felt like more, pain in his head from where someone had clearly pulled his hair, hard, his knees burned from where he'd clearly been kneeling, his jaw ached and the fingertip bruises on his arse cheeks were minor fodder compared to the stinging burn from his hole.

Growling in frustration, the person he could remember biting into his neck in the dark outside the hospitality suite hidden in dark shadows, them just meters from hundreds of people, their large hand palming Marc through his suit trousers, making him bite his already bitten lip, murmuring in his ear, filthy, dirty things about making him come, and nipping his earlobe harshly as they ordered him back to his motorhome, his begging and pleading obviously having an impact on them.

One hand wrapped around his cock the other flew to his throat as another hazy memory filtered back into his brain. Strong hands on his shoulders, pushing him to the floor, obviously the reason his knees hurt, them in his motorhome, next to the sofa, the back of Marc's head hitting the wall as he bobbed up and down on a thick cock pushing between his lips. Swearing loud Marc shivered as he remembered fingers scritching his head, gripping his hair and the control being taken by the other man; his breathing getting heavy as he pushed himself deeper into Marc's mouth, his grip tightening to hold him still as Marc gagged around the thickness pushing into his throat. Forehead on the glass Marc's wrist flicked, his cock leaking as his senses allowed details to flood back to him, the salty taste of the other man's pre-come, the way his eyes watered as he gagged, taking it time after time, the way the wiry hair made his nose twitch when he managed to take it all, his nose pressed against skin, somehow trusting the faceless man to hold him, breathless, for only a millisecond longer than he thought he could. Spurting over the glass as he remembered swallowing the come launched into his throat Marc swore loud, desperate to remember the face.

*

By the time he'd dried, dressed and made and eaten his breakfast Marc had remembered several things. He'd remembered being up against the wall, the tiny ping of buttons hitting furniture as his shirt was yanked from his body, kisses full of tongue and teeth and hands grabbing at his body. Taking a breath, willing his cock to behave, he growled in frustration at being able to remember being thrown onto his bed, a tongue finding his hole as fingers grabbed his cheeks hard, but still not the face. Then he could almost see himself thrashing around his bed as one, then two and then three fingers were lubed, pushed into him and used to tease, torment and fuck him until he begged for more. More he got, his hole tightening instinctively when he thought about the sharp burn of cock pushing into him, not entirely new, but this one wider than previous, the burn hot despite the relentless preparation. Pressing his fingers on the bruises he knew adorned his hips under his jeans Marc hissed, wishing he knew, gutted he couldn't remember who it was that summarily  fucked him harder, and better, than anyone ever had before.

All he could do now was grab his coat, head for the garage and pray that they were as trustworthy as they were good.


	2. 2+2

_Stubble._ It hits him on the way to the garage, the sensation he’s not really been able to pinpoint in the flood of memories. _Stubble. Lots. Stubble scratching through the kiss, stubble grazing my neck, stubble on my ass as his tongue licked- No. So... Someone with stubble._ Taking the first of a couple of corners at high speed, he barrels into someone coming the other way and suddenly gets jolted out of it, swear word escaping them both before their eyes lock and are both, obviously, still feeling the effects of the night before, awkward _shit_ replaced by friendly relief.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry too. You headed for the garage?”

“Yup. Things to test, people to see…” _Avoid. Which would be easier if I knew which one, really._ He takes in a sharp breath as he takes in the stubble on the face smiling at him, words generic and being patted on the shoulder, Marc more concentrating on whether there’s any trace of _last night I fucked you into oblivion and you gagged on me_ on Hector’s face, feeling the panic slowly melt as it seems not. _Nope._ “You know…” He cringes and looks down as he hears the older man’s footsteps stop. _You know who I went home with last night? That’s great PR._ “You know…I can’t even remember half of what I did last night…”

“Jaja. Me neither to be honest; I think everyone’s feeling that. You didn’t tweet anything terrible so I thought I’d not dare ask if I didn’t need to…”

 _You were there. Weren’t you there?_ “Ask?”

“Yeah, whatever happened when I left…I know Alex knocked on my door looking for you a couple of hours later but honestly I think he thought it was Thursday because he was just leaning there going _I think we can do it. Don’t you? We can do it. Can we do it? I think we can do it_ and hiccupping.”

“Jaja. Yeah…I, er…I left with some other people.” _I was dragged away by the best sex of my life. Don’t watch me walk away because I’m sore and slow moving._ “But jaja I’ll try and remind him…”

“No more Instagram videos though!” The older man shares the grin and starts walking away again. “See you in a bit. Have you seen Emilio and Santi?”

“Nope. Not seen anyone all morning.” _Thank the Lord Jesus._ “Hector?”

“Yeah?”

 _I’m gay._ “If there are bad pictures I’m sorry...”

“They’re always sorry…” He grins back over his shoulder, out of ear shot now, and Marc stares after him for a few seconds before turning back and heading on to the garage.

_Maybe that’s why the mystery ‘he’ left. Too sorry._

*

“Afternoon.”

“Mmm.”

“I expected vomiting so mute but not ill will have to do…”

He looks up at his manager and yawns through a smile. “Sorry…I just…”

“I remember.” The older man smiles at the slightly red faced _ah shit I was the most drunk_ on Marc’s face as he makes his way over to the pit wall, checking everything’s as it should be, Dani already out on track and Marc reminded of that as the smaller rider pulls back in and heads over to his chair, helmet off and nervous smile sent his way before the younger of the two is spitting Red Bull between his legs and taking in a big gulp of air. _GOD NO. SERIOUSLY?_

“You ok?” Santi.

“Yeah.” _Yeah fine it’s just that my teammate didn’t shave and may have had his cock in my mouth._ “Um, yeah. Sorry. Just, er…choking.” The word and the associated gag sounds from the night before that his mind replays for him make him go even brighter red, Dani now nervously frowning at him, briefly, before he’s buried in debrief and Marc is staring straight ahead trying desperately to remember everything again with Dani’s face instead of a blank space, realising the terrible effect that’s having on his groin and brain, before he stands up and rubs his hands over his face. “Bathroom. Back soon.” 

Once closed in, memories still flashing through his mind and making him squirm, again, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. _Dani. Can it have been Dani? Dani Pedrosa? Small, stubbly Dani. Dani’s hands on my shoulders. Dani’s fingers teasing me. Dani’s cock ramming me into-_ He bites down on his lip to stop the little whimper of horrific ecstasy escaping from his mouth as the door opens and someone comes in, Marc flushing the toilet and ending up face to face with Santi again at the sink, hoping the older man has no idea, or rather, he’s one of the many people who has no idea, and washing his hands like he’s not watching an inner reel of Repsol Honda gay porn. _Fuck._

“You ok?”

“Yeah, fine. You?”

“Yeah, er…fine. Fine…”

“Good.” _Please don’t ask…_ “I, er…just feeling a bit off after last night. And can’t remember anything.”

“Ah. That explains a lot because we really need to talk-”

“Before you lecture me I know it’s stupid because I’m a World Champion etc etc, but…I don’t remember so…you know. You’ve got to have a night off from being sensible sometimes, right?”

 _Oh fuck._ “Yeah, definitely.” _He doesn’t remember?!_

“So…yeah. Sorry. I’ll go and…be sensible.”

“Right.”

“Santi?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t, er…don’t tell anyone I don’t remember.”

“Was it something you’d rather forget?”

“From what I remember, _NO._ ” The rider grins at him and lets himself laugh, desperate to break the weird awkwardness somehow, whoever it was suddenly not really mattering quite as much as the glorious memory of it, and makes it through the door and back into the corridor before the look on Santi’s face sinks in, he feels his blood run cold and his heart plummet, and he almost dive bombs the wall to lean on it.

_OH MY FUCKING GOD._

He closes his eyes, blanks suddenly filled in and dragging him back to the night before and _Santi_ pulling him out the door, _Santi_ pinging his shirt buttons across the room, _Santi_ fucking his mouth, _Santi_ pounding him into the mattress.

The door starts to open behind him, that like a defibrillator to the chest and sending him almost jumping 10ft down the hallway, before he’s fairly sure he’s actively running away, wincing slightly at that and going red as he’s again reminded why, maybe in sight of the older man and making it all too obvious what he’s just remembered, not stopping until he’s face down on the bed again and instantly regretting that as even the faint smell of the bedding is enough to make him groan at the onslaught of memory, filled with a strange battle between absolute desperate need to rewind to it and do it all again, or forget every single second.

_Not likely. Ironically._

Marc: I think I had sex with Santi

Alex: Jaja whatever

Marc: I’m not joking

Alex: Sure! ;)

Marc: I went home with a guy. I had pretty rough, amazing sex with a guy. A guy who was at the party and who had stubble. There’s 3 options. Hector left earlier, Dani [!!!!] didn’t seem to react to me today, and Santi can’t look me in the eye

Marc: And I remember he tasted like cigarettes and vodka

Marc: And I remember EVERYTHING ELSE 

Alex: WHAT?!

Marc: HELP ME


	3. Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've had an internet blackout all day grr

Walking up to the door of the garage, hood up, hiding from as many people as possible, Marc stopped outside the door, turning to Alex, "Will you come in?"

"No," Alex shook his head, half laughing, half serious, "If you are old enough to fuck your crew chief then you are old enough to deal with it. Go test things... Bike things!"

"Please come in with me," Marc implored, "I don't want to walk in there..."

"Just get in there, do the testing and then speak to Santi later and sort things out," Alex puffed out his cheeks, unable to stifle a giggle, "Just keep your hands to yourself until the garage door comes down..."

"Thanks for your help _brother_..."

Stomping into the garage, avoiding eye contact with everyone, Marc made his way to his seat, picking up his clipboard and training his eyes on the paper, trying to remember to breathe.

*

"Awful," Pulling his helmet off Marc shook his head, "Absolutely awful. Too much chatter, it's crap."

" _Excuse me_?" Livio looked at Marc, head slightly tilted, everyone else taking a sharp breath at the older man's tone.

"It's crap," Marc clarified, shaking his head, "At turn 2, at 4, at 7..."

"And the positives?" Livio stared at Marc, unblinking, wondering what the hell was wrong with his rider.

"The run is over?" Marc retorted, sighing hard, looking up to see Santi coming back into the garage, "I'm going to the bathroom. Try and do _something_ with it before the next run otherwise it's a waste of time."

Wandering through to Dani's side of the garage Marc wandered out of the back, locking himself in the small toilet, leaning against the door trying to will his cock to stop reacting every time his crew chief appeared.

*

Clambering onto the back of the scooter, helmet still on, Marc cursed, anger bubbling in his veins, wincing as he caught sight of the marshals loading his bike onto the truck, the black testing livery scuffed and damaged from his trip through the gravel, "FUCK!"

*

"The tyre has no grip, the suspension is as bouncy as a bouncy castle, the torque..."

"Enough," Glaring at Marc, head shaking, Santi's voice was firm, "You know we don't focus on the negative. It's your rule. Stick to it."

Eyes burning into Santi's back as the older man moved to speak to one of the mechanics, the team working frantically on his damaged bike, Marc flinched as his mind suddenly removed Santi's shirt, remembering the way his own fingers dug into Santi's shoulders, the way Santi's breath ghosted over his ear as the older man collapsed on top of them, both of them spent, scratched and sticky, Santi's cock softening inside of Marc, the air silent apart from the sound of them trying to catch their breath..."

"MARC!"

Jumping, wincing as pain shot through his arse as he landed back on his seat, Marc shook his head, "For fuck's sake Emilio!"

"Did you hear a single word I just said?" Hands on his hips Emilio sighed hard.

Shaking his head Marc smiled, cheeky, "Was daydreaming... Sorry. What did you say?"

"Get out..."

Stunned, and confused, Marc laughed, "What?"

"Get out," Taking Marc's gloves from his lap and handing him his cap Emilio looked livid, "You heard."

Chuckling Marc shook his head, "I'm going back out once they fix that."

"No," Emilio shook his head, "You are going to meet Alex. You are going to speak to your brother about whatever it is that is making you act like this and then you'll come back after lunch acting like you again."

"Emilio," Marc huffed, "I'm just tired."

"I don't care," Taking Marc's cap and putting it on his head, face staid, voice eerily quiet, everyone in both halves of the garage desperately pretending they weren't listening, Emilio pointed to the door, "Get out and do not come back until you are ready to stop speaking to everyone in here like they are a piece of shit on your shoe."

"I wasn't! I just..."

"GET OUT!"

Genuinely stunned, tears stinging at his eyes, avoiding Santi's attempt at eye contact, Marc muttered an apology and skulked out of the garage, almost crying by the time he found Alex for lunch.

*

"MARC!" Spitting his pasta onto the table, face bright red, Alex shrieked, " _Seriously_?! A - I am eating and B - I did **NOT** need to know that!"

Shrugging, face like a doleful puppy being bullied, Marc sighed, "Sorry... It's just...."

"Please don't..."

"His tongue..." Shaking his head, his eyes closed and chewing on his bottom lip, Marc cursed, "He took so much time, just licking and teasing and... I've never felt someone be like that. I mean he was rough," Blushing, smile pulling at his lips, Marc sighed, "The way he twisted his fingers inside me was..."

"LALALALALALALA!" Fingers in his ears Alex shook his head, "I'm not hearing this. I do not want to think about Santi's tongue and fingers! LALALALALALALALALA!"

*

"Ok, you ready?" Alex stood outside the garage, hoping he didn't see Santi until the images Marc inflicted upon him over lunch had calmed down.

Marc shook his head, his eyes still reddened from the crying session that had left Alex feeling helpless, "Not really, but I have to..."

"Yep," Alex nodded, "Bound in, apologise for the hangover, be nice and then you can escape later. Yeah?"

Taking a deep breath Marc painted on his smile, "Yes. Let's do this."

"I'm right behind you..."

Walking into the garage, Marc pulled a face, holding up his hands, "Sorry guys! Hangover was a bitch this morning and I took it out on you. Drinks are on me tonight!"

Moving about, shaking the hands and slapping the back of each mechanic in turn, steadfastly avoiding Santi, Marc glanced at his watch, three hours suddenly seeming like a long time to act happy.

*

"Stop it.." Tiny whisper, only audible to Marc, Alex nudged his brother, Marc digging his nails into the palm of his hand so hard Alex feared he'd break the skin.

Voice tense and bitter, Marc shook his head, whispering back, "He's _flirting_..."

"He's not," Putting a hand on Marc's arm, pretending they were looking at his data sheet, Alex shook his head, "He's really not. He's not being any different."

"No," Marc sighed, "He's not."

Looking at the sheet, trying to tear his eyes away from where Santi was laughing and joking with one of the lads, Marc's mind ran away with itself, anger at Santi bubbling again, before he stood up, almost knocking over his chair, "Bathroom break."

"Erm..." Alex panicked as Santi turned, looking like he was about to follow Marc, sitting back in his chair when Santi shook his head, gesture so tiny it was almost imperceptible, Alex left hoping it wasn't made worse, if that was at all possible.

*

Opening the cubicle Marc froze, Santi leaning against the sink, arms folded, face unreadable, "What?"

"What do you think?" Santi sounded fed up, exasperated even, "What are you doing Marc? Why are you behaving like that?"

Shaking his head Marc's anger bubbled over, "What am **_I_** doing? What did YOU do?!"

"This is not the place for this conversation..." Santi chided him, his tone infuriating Marc further, accidentally making the younger feel like a small child being told off.

Turning on the tap, not caring that the water went everywhere, soaking Santi's shirt, childish, but satisfying, Marc washed his hands, trying to fight the lump in his throat and the stinging in his eyes, "Why?"

"Why what?" Confused, Santi looked at him, throwing the paper towel he was trying to dry his shirt with into the bin.

"Stop doing that!" Marc raged, "Stop acting like nothing happened and I'm being weird for no reason! You LEFT... You fucked me and then you _left_!"

"I left," Santi started, pausing every time Marc broke eye contact, not resuming until he looked back, two pairs of glassy eyes on each other, "I left because I had to... because if I was seen leaving your motorhome this morning people would talk."

"Can't have that," Marc muttered, bitter, the sting of feeling like Santi regretted him, that Santi was _ashamed_ of him, nipping hard.

"No, Marc, we can't have that," Santi shrugged, "You are the double world champion... It would be massive."

"You just left," Marc's anger bubbled again, "You left me there confused and sore and..."

"Don't," Santi warned, "Don't you do that... We **both** wanted this. I... I was just sober enough to be sensible this morning. That is all..."

"That is all? That is ALL?!" Rage finally exploding Marc pushed Santi, the older man letting out an a loud 'oof' as his back hit the wall, "You come to my motorhome, you..." Marc shook his head, eyes screwed shut, finger pointing in Santi's face, "You do those things, all of those things... With your tongue and your fingers and your..." Shaking his head, eyes still shut, voice quiet and strained, Marc cursed, "You did all of that and then you LEFT! You fucking left and I didn't know! I didn't know if it was someone I could trust or someone I had to worry about or just ANYTHING Santi! I didn't **know** _anything_! I kept looking at people because I could only remember little bits and..." Opening his eyes Marc looked at Santi, probably looking properly for the first time that day and his words stuck in his throat, the older man sagging against the wall, face clearly sad, not ashamed, sad that he'd upset Marc, "I... Fucking hell Santi, you **_left_**..."

Opening his mouth to speak Santi let out another 'oof' as he was attacked. Marc's hands on his face, holding him tight, fingers pressing into his jaw as Marc's mouth crashed onto his, his tongue delving into Santi's mouth at the first chance, the kiss desperate and needy, Santi responding, relaxing into it just as Marc pulled away, eyes wide and wild, "Fuck... I..."

"Marc!" Closing his eyes Santi cursed, the door slamming as Marc ran, not ready to deal with whatever it was going on in his head.


	4. Um...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys! ♥

_I left. Yes, I did leave. And now you have, so…_ The older man sighs and leans his head back on the wall, clenching his teeth and staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before closing his eyes as he hangs his head back to the floor, opening them again with a sigh. _I left because, honestly, not even 4am darkness was enough cover for that. And certainly not waking up together, curled around you-_ He cuts his train of thought off as the door swings open to reveal a very similar face to the one that’s just run away from him, but younger and, Santi thinks, seemingly even more ready to kill him. _Maybe this one won’t try and do it by suffocation._ “Look, it’s not-“

“What did you do?”

“Me?! Nothing! Well…you know.” _Yeah I’m pretty sure you know._ “I didn’t do anything _wrong._ ”

“You left.”

“Yes.”

“Why.”

“Because imagine if I hadn’t and I’m sneaking out of the World Champion’s motorhome in broad daylight and crumpled clothes?!”

“Sounds paranoid to me. Everyone knows you’re _close_. Party, drunk…it would be pretty understandable if you’d just crashed there.”

“Maybe it would. Maybe I’m paranoid. Or maybe, I made a sensible decision.”

“Sensible.”

“Yeah, I think I did. I don’t know what the fuck he thinks it means but…” _But?_ “But to me, at least, it wasn’t trying to run away. I was trying to make it _better_.”

“Better.” Arms folded, voice dead, Alex keeps their eyes locked together, waiting and wondering if the moment of truth is going to come and slowly coming to realise that, actually, he seems to be telling the truth. 

“Alex, I have a _wife._ And my job. And the biggest thing? Marc. Marc is very, very important to me, ok? Very important, and I care about him a lot. I’ve been here forever, or that’s how it feels. I’m not likely to want to throw any of those things away because of a stupid mistake.”

“So you admit it was a mistake, then.”

“What? No. I mean getting caught.” He goes red as he realises quite what he’s just said, Alex’s face flinching with the same surprise, and sighs again, rubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what to do about it, or what to say to him. I don’t know how he feels about it or…me…or anything. He’s a 21 year old MotoGP World Champion. I doubt he’s going to be that upset about not waking up to see _me_ once I explain.”

“Go on then.” 

The older man closes his eyes again and grits his teeth, even just the sight of the older brother sending a little fizz through him, maybe not having run quite as far as he thought and sending a quick glare at Alex that confirms _yes, I knew he was there and no I’m not sorry._

“Shall I leave you to-“

“Thanks.” Marc watches him out, tell-tale signs of nervousness that Santi can read better than almost anyone showing up in the younger rider; not looking him in the eye, hands wringing, lip bitten slightly. All classic, but tiny. _Like the last time someone bit your lip when that was me, and the way your breath gasped out at me as you wrapped your legs around my waist and we-_ He tries to blink that away, silence now a bit too long, and clears his throat. “Sorry I didn’t-“

“I heard.”

“Ok…”

“I’m important to you.”

_So important._ “Well…yeah.”

“Oh.”

He watches him take that in, blush spreading in the rider’s cheeks, before he manages to look up at him and hold the eye contact, Santi again plagued by the flash of last night’s porn special; this time the muscles in Marc’s back moving underneath him and the whimpers as his tongue lapped him open; Marc almost seeming to sense the images in his mind and going redder. 

“Um…didn’t realise.”

“You didn’t realise?” His brow furrows in concern, the way he’s said it for some reason much more than just a jokey, flippant _oh didn’t realise we should get married_ , and he watches Marc swallow as the mood suddenly seems to change. _How could you not realise._

“Well…no?”

“How could you not realise?”

“Um…because you left?”

“Before that. Before _this_. I mean…you know…” The older man trails off and feels himself go red, breaking the eye contact and staring at the wall in perfectly staged fake fascination. “You’re important. To me. Obviously…”

“Obviously.”

_God stop._ “Yes, obviously.” He looks back at him and shrugs. “You’re important and I didn’t want to hurt you, I wanted to protect you, ok? Getting seen walking out looking like that-“

“Protect me?!”

“I don’t mean…if you’re taking that the wrong way that’s not how I mean it. Anything you’re taking the wrong way is not how I mean it, ok? I just did what I thought was the best at the time. You think I didn’t want to wake up to you?!” _Smooth. Now we’re both crimson._

“Um…”

_Of all the times to turn into a teenager, you’re choosing now._ “‘Um…?’”

The younger man narrows his eyes at the tone, aware he’s a bit lost for words and floundering, and shoots him a glare he hopes is obviously fake, the slightly bashful and blushing _yeah, I embarrassed myself, you’re unable to speak too though…_ written all over Santi’s face confirming it. _Arggh. Don’t fuck the most important person in your garage: rules for life._ “UM...I don’t know. But I guess…maybe my reaction gives a few things away…”

_Gives a few things away._ The older man stares at him, cheek now gone, swallowing the nerves down, and tries to take in a deep breath without making that too obvious. “You, er…you wanted to…you know…you didn’t want to forget it? I mean, you’re not just mad because you couldn’t remember-“

“I remember it a lot better now…” The words are already out his mouth before the filter clicks on, accompanied by a tiny nervous laugh, almost more a hiccup, before he’s biting his lip again and staring off stage right, mood suddenly lighter again, trying not to laugh and ruin it, _ruin what?_ , desperate for a sign that maybe, maybe, the other man had actually _enjoyed_ it. “Thankfully…?”

_He’s actually flirting. Is he flirting? I think he’s flirting._ “Really.”

The deadpan tone, followed by the raised eyebrows and smirk that make his groin twitch, is the last thing Marc remembers before they’re pressed against the wall again, tongues finding each other immediately, groans and gasps passed breathlessly between them before they careen across to the other side of the room and hit the sinks, him boosted up to somehow perch on the edge, legs wrapping round Santi’s waist, arms round his neck and pulling them together, fingers going through his hair, skin shivering and another moan as the scratch of the stubble goes straight through him. The memories fire up again and Santi’s are seemingly the same if the hands now finding the bare skin of his back are anything to go by, daring lower and teasing under the top of the rolled down ‘waistband’ of where his leathers start, before they both seem to realise that, being honest, they can’t fuck each other in a public bathroom yards from everyone in charge, and settle instead for a slower pace, the older man’s hands gently pulling back and going round him, smiling into it as they both take a few gasps of breath and Marc’s hand ruffles through the hair at the nape of his neck. _Yeah, waking up to you I can deal with._


	5. I want...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *cough* explicit content in this one :D

The afternoon dragged on forever, despite Marc's efforts to convince Emilio and Livio that everything was great with the new updates. By the time he bundled through the motorhome door, Santi behind him, swearing a lot as Marc fumbled with the lock, both of them hard and desperate already.

The second he kicked the door shut behind him Santi was on Marc; pinning the younger man to the wall, his hands holding Marc's wrists next to his head, his body pressing Marc's back into the wall, his mouth on Marc's, his teeth and tongue searching and nipping, demanding more now he had the confidence that Marc wanted him as much as he wanted Marc.

Driven by the moans he was swallowing from Marc he moved his leg, pressing his thigh between Marc's legs, Marc growling, nipping Santi's lip, at the pressure on his cock, rock hard and trapped in material that suddenly felt like steel. Wriggling until Santi freed his hands Marc tangled one in Santi's hair, fingers wrapping around the curls, tugging, enjoying the gasp, echoing it when Santi's hands when straight down the back of his suit, fingers digging into his cheeks, making Marc thump his head against the wall, cursing, when a finger found his hole, tapping, intention clear, promising rather than threatening, as Santi's mouth kissed down Marc's neck, beard scratching along the way, Santi holding Marc up as he knees wobbled. Nipping his way back up Marc's neck, his head tilted to give extra access, biting his earlobe, making him wail, Santi growled, "Bedroom. Now..."

*

"Fuuuuuck..." Naked, on his bed, Marc slammed his head back into the pillow, Santi's hands on his abdomen, holding him down, Santi's mouth sucking on his cock, _finally_ letting Marc slide into the hot, wet heat after endlessly teasing him; a strong arm pinning Marc down as Santi's tongue and scratchy beard kissed, licked, nipped and sucked _everywhere_ , Santi's tongue curling and probing Marc in places he never expected anyone's tongue to go, making him wail, growl and curse, his mouth full of the taste of copper through biting his own lip hard when Santi had licked from the tip of his cock, down and over his balls and across his hole in one, steady, damp stripe.

Swallowing Marc's cock to the root, the younger man yowling so loud he briefly wondered how soundproofed his motorhome was, glad it was quiet in the paddock, Santi redoubled his efforts, hollowing his cheeks, one hand moving to roll and fondle Marc's balls, eager to hear the noise that he'd heard before, the beautiful, pitchy wail Marc made as he was pulled over the edge, filling Santi's throat with cum as he did, Santi's own cock hard and leaking against the sheet, Marc never more beautiful; back arched, bottom lip swollen, hair sticking to his forehead thanks to the sheen of sweat glistening over his body, his eyes flicking shut as he growled and wailed, then whimpered as Santi's tongue flicked out to clean him up, too sensitive to do anything, but let tiny noises fall from his mouth.

*

Looking down the bed, Marc's eyes looking back at him, the younger man's mouth around his cock, his tongue having licked its way down Santi's body, eager to return the favour, flicking over Santi's tip like he was licking a lollipop, before forgetting the tease and taking as much of Santi as he could into his mouth, gagging once, memories doubling with sensations, Santi's brain kicked into gear, "Stop... Marc... Stop..."

"What's wrong?" Biting his lip, Marc looked crestfallen, "What did I do?"

"Nothing," Sitting up, Santi shook his head, reaching to stroke Marc's face with his hand, "We can't do this... It's not right..."

"But we want it..." Marc moved forward, his chest brushing Santi's cock, Santi growling, hands fisting in the cover, his voice soft, "Why is it not right if it's what we want?"

"You are young... This... I'm not... Young... If people find out..."

"We've talked about this already," Fingers cupping Santi's face Marc bit his lip, coy, but confident, "I want this, I want you..."

"Marc," Santi shook his head, eyes closing instinctively when Marc leant in to pepper his mouth with tiny kisses.

"I want you... I want you again so that I can remember... I can still _feel_ you, in my throat, in my ass, your fingertips in my hips," Clambering onto Santi, a lapful of Marc making Santi's balls want to explode, Marc nuzzled into the older man's neck, his lips brushing words onto the skin, his tongue occasionally flicking out, "I want to feel you in my throat, to look you in the eye, sober, as you push deeper, giving me everything that you've got, _making_ me take it..."

" _Marc,_ " Santi's tone was harsher, his voice ruined, his composure hanging by a thread.

"Please... Please Santi... I want you inside me, fucking me, hard, harder than anyone ever has..." Marc nipped Santi's skin with his teeth, "I've thought about you... I've thought about you when I've touched myself, when I wanked I've closed my eyes and imagined it was your hand tugging on me and when I've had my fingers inside me I've imagined it was your cock..."

" ** _Fuck_**..." Throwing Marc back on the bed, composure snapped, Santi bit on Marc's lip, hard enough to make Marc yowl, loud, "You want this?"

"I want it," Wriggling his body against Santi's hardness, wicked smile on his face, eyes almost black with lust, Mark cackled at Santi's low growl.

"Fine," Grabbing Marc's hair, Santi hauled him around, Marc's hair feeling like it was being pulled from his scalp, Santi shaking his head at Marc, knowing it was wrong, but _wanting_ it, "Open your mouth..."

*

Watching Marc, his face twitching with hints of pain, his teeth biting into his lip, his eyes a perfect mix of lust and concentration, Santi had to breath slowly and deeply to stop himself from exploding then and there. After thrusting himself into Marc's throat, Marc's eyes streaming as he tried to control the gag reflex as Santi pushed deeper than he thought he could manage, Marc twice more begging Santi to continue when nerves threatened to override the older man's lust, Santi had laid Marc out on his stomach, tormenting him with tongue and lubed fingers as he'd licked and fingered Marc open, rubbing his prostate repeatedly until Marc had begged for more, his spent cock reawakened, hard and leaking, his voice reduced to more of a mewl from its original growl.

Lying on his back, head tilted, cock standing out from the crop of dark hair, Santi smirked when Marc actually blushed, hard enough for his cheeks to stay pink as he straddled Santi, closing his eyes until Santi barked at him to open them, Marc's reaction to that making both of their cocks twitch.

Knees either side of Santi's legs, Marc slowly pushed himself down, the blunt thickness of Santi's cock popping past his ring of muscle making him gasp, hands flying to Santi's chest to balance himself, Santi's hands resting on his hip, helping, but not pulling, letting Marc dictate the pace. Both of them swore as Marc adjusted and moved, taking in more, the stretch wider and different, the burn stinging, enough to bring a tear to his eye, but not enough to stop until he was sitting on Santi, Santi completely buried, his body feeling full and stretched, unable yet to see how he could take anything more than that.

Waiting for Marc to adjust was like a glorious torture for Santi; the tightness of Marc around him, his muscles trying to push him out, was a wonderful feeling, added to the, sober, sensation of that tightness being _Marc_ meant that his balls were bubbling, every muscle in his body aching as he fought to control the twitch of his hips, overruling the instinct to fuck, wanting to wait, to make it good for Marc.

*

"Santi..." Marc panted out the word, him having collapsed forward onto Santi, their chests slick with sweat, sticking together as Marc's gentle rocking, experimenting with what felt good had given way to a litany of curses as Santi found his prostate and Marc had begged for more, bouncing on Santi's cock, the way Santi looked at him giving him the confidence to do so without abandon until Santi's hips were snapping hard, hitting his prostate every time, Marc falling forward, going limp as Santi's arms wrapped around him, his cock trapped between their stomachs as Santi, feet planted on the bed, pounded into him as hard as the position and his energy allowed, Marc reduced to a whimpering mess, "Santisantisantisantisaaaanntisaaannnnnttttiiiii..."

The feeling of the stickiness spurting onto his stomach and Marc's body clenching around him was enough to tip Santi over the edge, his mouth latching onto Marc's shoulder, teeth sinking into the already sucked pink skin, erupting into the condom, thrusting a few times to finish, Marc over-sensitive and wailing.

Breathing heavy, wincing as Santi pulled his softening cock out of him, the older tying the condom and chucking it in the bin, Marc's voice was soft and weak, wrecked by Santi's cock and his own screaming, "Santi?"

"What?" Rolling onto his side, the worry on Marc's face making him instinctively reach out, Santi smiled, the hint of blush on Marc's face and his look at the clock giving away the question, "I'm not going anywhere."

Pulling the cover up from the floor Santi pulled Marc to him, Marc snuggled into his neck, Santi's arm under and around him, his eyes flickering shut as Santi pressed a gentle kiss to his head, any worries being left for another day.


	6. Good Morning...

_Oh my God._ Marc wakes up first, this time sober, this time still very much sore and aware of why, and this time very much not alone. _Santi. Santi is in the bed._ He takes a few deep breaths to try and calm himself, memories of the night before assaulting his consciousness and definitely not helping the obvious arousal already raging under the sheets, before finally closing his eyes again and counting to ten. _Ok, well…at least this time you’re still here._

He’s facing away from him, blinking on and off at the clock next to the bed and wondering what to do, knowing what he wants to do and too nervous to do that, before he feels the bed move slightly and realises he’s awake. _Just please don’t run away._ He hears the little _hmm_ of realisation at where the older man is, biting his lip as he waits for the bed to move as he gets out of it, and then flashes white hot as a hand finds its way down his spine and around him, spooned again and feeling happy shock flow through him.

“You awake?” The words, murmured into the crook of his neck, affection so immediate it gives him butterflies, make him shiver and share a smile with the pillow.

“Y-yeah…” _Smooth._ He manages to get that word out before finally biting the bullet and turning over, face to face and eye to eye on the pillow, conscious of the ruffled state of him, and appreciating the ruffled state of the man staring back at him. “Morning…”

“Morning.” The smile is genuinely brighter than the sun. “This is better than yesterday, yeah?”

“Y-yeah…” _Wow._ “I, er…but you don’t have to-“ He loses the rest of the sentence in a kiss, message starting to be received and relaxing into it, before they’re pressed together and gasping, Santi’s _oh good morrrrning_ making Marc laugh into his mouth and dig his fingernails into his back with a low groan. “Are we…” _Fuck._ His mind goes blank as the older man’s fingers wrap around him between them, mouth going slack and lip nibbled as there’s a low and impossibly hot laugh from Santi, who pushes Marc back into the sheets once he’s done teasing, beard scratching a line down his neck and over his torso that’s greeted with another groan. _I guess we are. Whatever we are._ Marc tangles his fingers in the dark curls on their way down his front, breath hitching and skin humming as he pauses the journey to look up, questioning, needing to check, and then giving him a knowing smile at the _fucking please right now please_ bearing down on him from Marc’s face. _Well whatever this is, at least we both seem to want it just as badly._ He holds the eye contact for a little longer before rolling his tongue around the tip and feeling a shiver of satisfaction at the growl from the younger man, who can’t keep his head propped up as Santi does it again, collapsing back into the pillow and moaning at the ceiling as he’s swallowed down, one hand grabbing too much hair and the other too much sheet. _Holy fuck._ That sentiment seems to be understood, Santi soon getting him unravelled and panting, finally wailing at the ceiling and tugging on his hair as he comes down his throat and a few more embarrassingly needy noises come out as he turns to jelly, still slightly in shock that this is what’s happened after honestly expecting him to either have left already, or be on the verge of it. _But no, you’re…doing this._ He tilts his head up again once he’s got his breath back, answering the silent question with a slightly self-conscious nod, then grabbing into the sheets again and whimpering as the tongue continues its journey and circles his hole, caught between the memory and slight tenderness of the night before, the red raw scratch of the beard against the still raw skin, and the delicious little ripples of pleasure running through him as the pressure increases, teasing and Marc relaxing, mind still buzzing on it being _Santi_ between his legs. He feels his breath hitch as the tongue changes to a lubed finger, wriggling and hips bucking, distantly almost irritated by how quickly he comes apart in his hands, swearing at the ceiling and mewling into his shoulder as he finds the spot and makes Marc’s cock twitch in interest again, Santi adding two more fingers and slowly making his chest heave, starting to fuck him with his fingers, Marc panting and growling each time he hits his prostate, fingernails digging into his back and mouths crashing together when they can, until he’s practically begging into his ear and his teeth are dragging over his shoulder, fingernails digging into Santi’s ass and pulling him inside, both expelling a long breath of relief and suddenly face to face, eye contact a strange mixture of lust and emotion making both of them pause for a split second before he starts to move. The moment’s gone as Marc lets himself go and closes his eyes, neck exposed to a kiss and hand wandering up Santi’s back to run through his hair and guide his head, little noises passed between them giving him goosebumps, flash of pleasure as he hits the spot making him nip his lip in the kiss as the rhythm increases, hair plastered to the Honda rider’s forehead and throat letting every little noise out as it appears, until he’s digging his nails into Santi’s ass and encouraging him for more, feeling the pressure in both of them build before he slams his head back into the pillow again and groans as the older man’s hand reaches between them to tug him over the edge, both dissolving into a writhing mess, lips mostly hitting the target of each other’s mouth, both groaning into it, and finally both coming almost in sync as Marc growls first and takes Santi with him, fingers almost drawing blood before he feels the older man collapse on him, both now eyes shut and panting, taking a few moments to bathe in it before he rolls off and they stare at the ceiling together. _Wow._ They stay there for a while before Santi gets up and goes to clean himself up, then cleaning Marc up, the rider splayed out and almost paralytic before his head lolls to the side as he comes back and gets back on the bed next to him. 

“As I was saying, good morning…” 

He grins at the classic Santi laugh and nods, joining in and looking back at the ceiling, wondering what they do now, before he looks back and realises that what he wants to do now is also what’s seemingly being offered, rolling onto his side next to the older man and curling against him, humming happily into his chest as an arm goes round him, lips grazing skin as he talks. “See, it is better when you stick around."

“I’m not disagreeing…”

“Good.” He smiles and nods against him, happy sigh as he feels a kiss planted in his hair, and then pulls him in a bit closer. “Me neither. So definitely good morning.”


	7. Uncomfortable

"You ok Marc?" Slapping Marc's arse as he passed the mechanic asked.

Laughing, trying to hide the discomfort, Marc nodded, "It's been a long season!"

Looking at his bike, wondering how long his team had been so fond of patting and slapping his arse so frequently, Marc glanced out of the garage door and, probably for the first time ever, prayed that it kept raining, his activities with Santi leaving his arse red and sore, although all of it very worthwhile.

*

Shaking his head, like a dog just in from a swim, Marc hooted at Santi's frown, "Sorry..."

"Yeah," Pushing Marc against the wall, the wasted morning in the garage somehow seeming more frustrating than normal after waking up with Marc in his arms, Santi practically growled, "You seem _really_ sorry...."

Sighing into Santi's grasp, the scratchiness of the older man's beard against his skin lost as Marc almost drowned in the gloriousness of the way Santi kissed him; dominating, hard, tongue probing, but somehow gentle, soft and luxurious at the same time, Marc's hips twitched, making him groan when Santi's hand pushed down into his boxers, gripping his cheek, his hole clenching at the thought, his body torn between 'No, oww' and 'Yes, please'.

"Bed?" Pulling away Santi's breath caught in his throat, the sight of Marc looking at _him_ like _that_ constantly taking his breath away.

Shaking his head, devilish glint in his eyes as he pushed Santi's jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, Marc bit his lip, still slightly in awe of Santi being there with him, "Shower?"

"You..." Santi growled, hissing as Marc's fingers went under his t-shirt, pulling it over his head, "....are going to be the death of me...."

*

"You have a dirty mind Marc Marquez!" Santi chuckled, one towel wrapped around his waist, picking up their clothes and dumping them on the sofa, second towel in his hand, drying his hair and chest, "What would your mother say if she heard you say things like that?"

Marc yelped, "Santi!!! Do not mention my mother when we are both naked EVER again!"

"Oooh so there is something that makes you embarrassed then!" Santi laughed, then froze as the motorhome door opened, Emilio sighing, muttering about the rain as he walked in.

Mar... Hi Santi... I wondered where you'd gone," Emilio smiled, the sight of someone from the team showering in Marc's motorhome not unusual, "Just came to tell him we're not going out this afternoon no matter what the weather. No point everyone hanging about all day long."

"Good idea," Santi nodded, praying Marc wouldn't come out of the shower too quickly, cursing internally when he did, trying not to look at the gloriously golden skin covered in water droplets appearing as Marc came out, oblivious to Emilio's prescience, laughing.

"There are times and pla... Emilio," Marc faltered, smiling at his mentor, voice changing slightly, "Something wrong?"

Emilio shook his head, oblivious, "No, just letting you know we've decided to call it for the day. No point having everyone hanging about all day..."

"Cool," Dripping water all over the floor, Marc smiled, trying not to catch Santi's eye, "Good idea."

Emilio nodded, aware something wasn't quite right, but not sure what it was, "I'll let you get back to your shower, you must have just run under the spray after Santi was done."

"Yeah," Marc laughed, loud, too loud.

Emilio shrugged and headed for the door, cursing at the rain sounding louder, wishing he was staying closer, then freezing as he turned back, Marc and Santi not having moved, but sharing a look, one that made Emilio stop, think 'No?' then 'Yes' then 'Shit' before his voice exploded, making all three of them jump, "You **HAVE** to be fucking kidding me?!"

*

"How long?" Emilio demanded as he walked toward them, Marc and Santi both frozen into silence, "How long?"

"Emilio..." Marc started, then looking to Santi when he realise he didn't know what to say.

Santi shook his head, "There is nothing here that you need concern yourself with Emilio."

"Nothing I need concern myself with?" Emilio almost exploded, his eyes bulging, his face red, "My crew chief is fucking my rider and that is _nothing I need concern myself with_? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Santi's right," Marc nodded, his voice not overly confident, defying or answering Emilio back not something he did regularly, "It's nothing for you to worry about."

"Go and put some clothes on," Emilio barked at Marc, his eyes boring into Santi.

Marc pouted, "Don't shout at me like I'm a child."

"Go and put some fucking clothes on Marc..."

"Don't speak to him like that," Handing Marc a hoodie, giving his shoulder a reassuring rub, Santi glared at Emilio, "Do **not** speak to him like that."

"Ok," Emilio snarked, "Why don't you both go and put some fucking clothes on and then you can tell me what the fuck is going on..."

*

Sitting on the bed, Santi pulling on his shirt, Marc bit his lip, "He's really angry..."

"He's not angry at you," Running his thumb over Marc's cheek, Santi pressed a kiss to his damp hair, "He's mad at me."

Marc frowned, pressing his head to Santi's stomach, his arms wrapped around his legs, "Why?"

"He'll think I'm taking advantage of you..." Ruffling Marc's hair Santi stepped back, "Just let him say his piece.... He won't be the only one with something to say if people find out..."

Marc nodded, standing up, slipping his hand into Santi's, "I know that, I just thought Emilio would be one of the ones on our side..."

*

Sitting on the sofa, his face like thunder, Emilio smiled at Marc, "That's Alex ringing you again, you should answer him before he panics..."

"You sure," Holding his phone Marc looked at Santi, not sure if the conversation, which seemed to involve them talking and Emilio taking occasional sharp intakes of breath, was over or not.

"Go on," Santi patted his leg, smiling softly, voice reassuring "Go speak to Alex."

"Ok..." Marc stood up, tapping the screen and moving to the bedroom, "Hey Alex.... Nah was talking to Santi and Emilio...."

Turning to Santi, face darkening, Emilio shook his head, "How could you?"

"I like him..." Santi shrugged, unapologetic.

Emilio shook his head, "I'm sure you do..."

"Don't be like that," Santi sat up straighter, "It's new and it's taken us both by surprise..."

Emilio chewed his lip, his face contorted like he was chewing a wasp, "It started at the celebration party."

"Yes," Santi nodded.

"The night that Marc was incredibly drunk," Emilio spat, "Marc who has fucking idolised and looked up to you for _years_..."

"It wasn't like that," Santi protested.

Emilio snorted, "Of course not. I'm sure any gay man would have been unable to resist the advances of a drunk kid who'd looked up to them for years..."

"Hey..." Santi shook his head, offended, "It **wasn't** like that."

Standing up Emilio looked at Santi with disgust, "There's nothing I can say to him. He's a kid, kids always think they know better, but you... You fucking _should_ know better."

"Emilio..." Santi sagged back onto the sofa, watching Emilio walk out, the words ringing in his ears, mingling with the sounds that had fallen from Marc over the past few nights, the sounds that had become his most favourite sounds in the world, trying to convince himself that Emilio was wrong.


	8. Resolve-d...

“Ok I’ve talked to Alex and he th…” The words die on Marc’s lips as he walks back into the room, absence of Emilio immediately obvious and not liking what that signifies in any way at all. And what he likes even less is the expression on Santi’s face. “He left?”

“Yeah.” The older man sighs and manages to pulls his eyes away from the damp perfection looking at him like _that_ , suddenly not glistening in the afterglow of the shower, expression on the rider’s face making him look more like a half drowned puppy. _Because…he’s right? Or…_ “He, er…I don’t think he liked what he heard.”

“Right…” _If we don’t let this affect us, it can’t. Right?_ “And what did he hear…?”

“Excuses from someone who should know better, apparently.”

“Hey, don’t-“

“I don’t mean I regret anything, ok? I just…” _Partly. He’s partly right, isn’t he?_ The older man looks up at Marc again, little intake of breath when he sees his face again, and sighs as he shakes his head. “You were too drunk.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You didn’t even remember-“

“No, I didn’t. Not at first, ok fine. But did you make me come?”

“What?!”

“Did you make me _come_.” The words, serious and completely unembarrassed, underline the other half of the voices in Santi’s head reminding him that Marc is an adult. 

“Why does that-“

“Because if you did, I wasn’t too drunk.” Tiny smile. “And fuck, I know I did. Because _I remember it._ ”

“You do now-“

“And I will forever…”

“Marc, please.”

“Please? Please what?”

“Please don’t make it worse.”

“I don’t understand how anything’s not GOOD right now, ok? Talk to me, tell me what’s changed in the last two minutes since you were fucking my-“

“Marc.”

“Yeah, I’m here. Stop giving me that voice like I’m 12. Come on, nothing changed except someone gave us an opinion. So what?”

“Well it’s not that simple, is it?”

“What’s not simple? I want you and you want me, and luckily we’re both adults and travel around the world together.”

“But.”

“You’ve lost me again. But what? But we have to keep it secret? Yeah, and that’s annoying. I can’t think of anything else.”

“How long.” _The answer doesn’t change anything, right? Because now at least he’s an adult with his own-_ “How long have you wanted-“

“Since I walked in for the first Moto2 test and you looked at me like you always do now. Ok? And then, yeah I was younger and everything but-“

“Do you even know how old I am?”

“Yes. And it doesn’t matter. You’re Santi, and I want Santi.”

The accidental slight petulance laced through that doesn’t really help, sending the mechanic into another little whirlwind of confusion between what sounded like common sense from Emilio and what he wants to think is common sense from the heart. _Which I guess is the whole problem._ “I w-want you too.” _Love you? Since when it was probably weird and sick and wrong. Since that day you walked in for the first Moto2 test and a switch flicked._ “But.”

“But? You agree and you think I can’t even think for myself? You think I can win four world titles and _blow_ you like that but I don’t know what I’m doing?! Well, I don’t even know what to say-”

“I don’t mean it like that.”

“Well then tell me how you mean it.”

“I mean…” _What the fuck do I mean._ “Look, I…I’ve watched you grow up, ok? And that’s weird and-“

“And I have grown up.”

_Does how desperate he is to prove that mean anything? Or is it convincing because it’s true?_ “I know.”

“So…why are we having this conversation?”

“Because…” _Because._ “Because…” He flounders around for a while, hoping it seems like he’s lost for words rather than too scared to say the ones already on the tip of his tongue, and then sighs and furrows his brow, hands rubbing over his face as he breaks the eye contact again. “Because you were a kid. And I was someone you looked up to, I mean…I think? I hope. And I never let how I felt get in the way I don’t think and I always tried to be that person until you didn’t need them anymore and you could do it on your own. Well, with back up. And now you can, but I don’t know if you just think you feel this because we’ve always been close-“

“Santi.”

“Hmm?”

“I was born quite a few years after you. And you’ve been a big part of my life for a long time, but no one crossed any lines. And now, I’m Marc the adult MotoGP rider and you’re my friend, and chief mechanic. Or well, it seemed like that. It seemed like that’s all you were, from the outside. But you never have been, and now we have the chance to actually admit that. I don’t understand the problem, honestly. You’ve certainly had an effect on me, yeah. But all good things. Like when you’re really fucking annoyed because someone can’t count and you want to yell and scream but then you remember there’s no point, because the person made a mistake, and has saved you from making soooo many more before anyway. Ok? Good things. Things that have made me grow up in the best way.”

“It just feels like I had some kind of responsibility to not let this happen-“

“You had a responsibility to be a good person and a good member of my team, and a good friend, and you’ve done all of that.”

“You’re a 21 year old World Champion.”

“Don’t you forget it.” The rider raises an eyebrow and winks, feeling it defrost slightly and walking over to get on his lap, exasperated sigh somewhere between complete irritation and bliss from the older man, before he takes a deep breath and shakes his head at the look on Santi’s face. “I am. And if you were Emilio it would be fucking wrong, because Emilio is like my boss and big brother and dad all in one. You were never that, ok? Maybe a bit big brother. Always good advice from Santi. You can always trust Santi. And when you see a message from Santi you get a little shiver because Santi wants to talk to you. And you spend wayyyy too long typing out the reply because you don’t want this one person, of all of them, to think you’re an idiot. But it never seems like they do. They never look at you like you’re a kid, and then you end up kind of not being because you don’t have to be. And you dream…” He lets his gaze drop to the older man’s lips and then back up, leaning in a bit closer and smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That they might feel any of those things too. And maybe you tell yourself it’s ridiculous, but it’s not. It’s obviously not because here we are.”

“Marc…”

“I’m here. I’m pretty crazy about you. I’m 21 and realllllly flexible…”

“But if I hadn’t been how I have been-“

“You didn’t lie. We didn’t do anything bad, ok?”

“I find it hard to believe…” _Just say it, come on._ “I find it hard to believe that out of everyone you’d choose me.”

“To be fair, I didn’t _choose_ you…” The Honda rider smiles at him, slight little _hands are tied_ expression, before letting himself lean in properly and leaving the rest of the words grazing the older man’s lips as he says them. “But I’m very glad about this happy accident.”

“Accidents are never happy…” _Resolve dissolved. Again._ He lets his hands find the cool skin of Marc’s back and pulls him in a bit, flash of affection in the younger man’s eyes hitting him in the chest, before closing his eyes into another little kiss and then leaning his forehead against Marc’s. “That’s what I mean, I’m worried it wasn’t an accident and I somehow did it on purpose.”

“Emilio doesn’t understand, at the moment. But that doesn’t change anything. I hadn’t a clue you might actually feel like this until the other night, ok? So you’ve not done anything on purpose.”

“I really want to believe that.”

“Then do. Honestly, who did something on purpose here?”

“What?”

“There’s no one waiting at home for me.”

_No there isn’t._ The older man closes his eyes and shakes his head, last little bit of reluctance fading. “That’s not that simple-“

“I know. I just…I don’t care what that makes me, or what Emilio or anyone else would say. It’s worth it. Ok? It’s worth it because I love you and I’m not going to give up on that just because-“ The younger man feels the flash of irritation fade as the lips in front of him crash onto his, ending up with his fingers tangled in the curls of Santi’s hair and crotch twitching. _Just because everyone’s going to say the same thing._


	9. I Love You...

Looking down at Marc, his face a picture of happy tranquillity as he slept, Santi tried to swallow down the sob bubbling in his throat. His resolve had been dissolved, repeatedly, by Marc's words, his determined, _passionate_ , words, but now in the stark silence of the motorhome, his pants somewhere across the room, discarded in a hurry, like all of Marc's clothes, jumping at every sound, panicking that every noise was someone coming in the, foolishly unlocked, door to catch them out some of Emilio's words finally slammed into the sensible part of his brain.

Not the words about him being too old or Marc being too young, about that Emilio was wrong, but some of the other words were making his stomach twist and curl. The idea of someone, anyone, finding out and accusing Marc, his beautiful, honest Marc, of being a cheat brought stingy tears to his eyes. Holding his breath as Marc's nose twitched, not wanting the younger to see him upset, Santi drew his eyes over Marc again, his skin flawless apart from the few red crescents and scratches left by him, and he tried to stifle a sob at the idea of the stresses and lines that would appear on Marc's face if he ended up surrounded by the media scrum that would surround him if it ever came out.

Wincing as a tear dropping onto Marc's cheek, his cheek twitching as he almost woke, Santi sobbed in silence as he realised what he needed to do.

*

Ignoring the four fans still hanging about after the end of testing Marc rant to the garage so fast his lungs burned. Throwing open the door he gasped for a breath, "Santi?"

"Think he headed off already," One of the mechanics smiled, "We're just finishing pack up and then...."

Sprinting towards the car park, the rest of the sentence fading into the air, Marc glowered when his arm was caught, Emilio's firm grip stopping him in his tracks, "Let me go..."

"You need to pack up your stuff in the motorhome."

Furious, frantic tears in his eyes, Marc shook his head, trying to pull his arm away, "No, I need to speak to Santi."

"You can speak to Santi at Superprestigo," His grip on Marc's arm firm, Emilio guided him toward the motorhome area, "It's time to go home."

"I need to speak to him," Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, aware he wasn't helping Emilio's opinion about the sensibility of the situation with his petulant tone and public crying, Marc looked toward the car park, his voice broken with tears, "I **_need_** him..."

"You need to clear the motorhome so it can be taken into storage," Emilio fixed Marc with his most parental stare, "So that the guy who has driven it for you all year can go home to his family."

The sudden image of Santi going home, a home that he wasn't part of, that he could _never_ be part of brought a retching sob spilling from Marc's mouth, "I..."

"Marc," Emilio cautioned.

Shaking his head Marc wrenched his arm from Emilio and sprinted to the motorhome, only just making it into the bathroom before the bile erupted from his stomach.

*

Locking his bedroom door, one of his last planned nights in his childhood home, Marc slid down the wall, tears streaming down his face, sobs bursting intermittently from his chest, as he fumbled in his pocket for the piece of paper; somehow needing to read and re-read it even though it crushed his heart a little more each time.

_Baby,_

_I'm so very sorry that you'll wake to find me gone again. The simple fact is that if I stay then you'll speak and if you speak, if you ask me something, **anything** , then every ounce of resolve I currently have will desert me. So instead I can only hope that one day you will forgive me for taking the cowardly way out._

_I've spent these last few hours watching you sleep. You are always beautiful to me, but never more so when all the stresses and worries of the world evaporates from you as you sleep. I have realised in this time that, to an extent, he is correct. Not about our ages or our feelings, what I feel for you is genuine and I truly hope you never doubt that. However, about the other things he is correct. We can never walk down the paddock hand-in-hand like Vale and Linda, we could never argue and make up like Scott and Penny; we can't even just comfortably be ourselves together like Dani and Ivette._

_To be with me you would have to live a lie and to do that you would have to change. You would have to become sneaky and secretive. You'd have to end your open door policy for the team. You'd have to lie to people, about everything including yourself, and you'd have to do that daily. Whilst doing that we'd have to hope that the inevitable paranoia of getting caught didn't ruin us personally or as a couple._

_To be with you I'd have to risk you. The first gay rider, be he openly so or caught, is going to be the tabloid fodder for months. It'd be front page news worldwide. I'd have to watch you be pick apart by piranhas repeatedly and know that it was MY fault. I'd also have to make a choice - I'd either have to let them think that you were a cheat, with all the 'marriage wrecker' accusations that would come with, or I'd have to reveal that my wife and I got married to give she and I a cover story and protection from the fact our sexualities are not, and will not be, accepted in our home town, country or even families. I'd have to choose one of you to hang out to dry..._

_You are the most amazing person I have ever met. Your ability to bounce back, usually laughing, no matter how hard you fall is beyond inspirational. In 2011 so many of us were falling apart **for** you, but you were just there, quietly determined to visit as many doctors as possible until you found one willing to operate on you, not willing to give up on that tiny chance, scrapping for every last point._

_Nothing has changed you. The cheeky, funny, good-hearted guy who knew the birthdays of each of his Moto3 mechanics still knows which receptionists get chocolates because hayfever rules out flowers. No amount of titles by your name, zeros on your bank account or first class travel has added any ego and that is a truly beautiful thing._

_I am **SO** proud of you. For the way you ride, for the records you've broken, for the person you've become, and stayed, for the courage you are **never** short of and for everything that you will go on to achieve._

_I love you. Please never doubt that, anything I've said or anything we've shared. I wish more than anything we could be more than a few snatched moments together, but we can't. This is the only way I can protect you and my wife. My heart is breaking, but it has to be this way._

_I'll understand if you wish to replace me in the team. I'd hate it, but I'd understand._

_If by some miracle you don't despise me and have me replaced I'll see you at Superprestigo._

_I'm sorry that this will hurt. I'll never regret a second of what we shared, but I am sorry for hurting you._

_S x_


	10. "Are You Ok"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys! ♥

_And…another day._ He groans slightly as he gets up, already having had the horrible realisation moment like usual and everything seeming to sink slightly, before sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. _Still gone. Still wish you weren’t._

*

“Are you ok?”

“Fine.”

“Really though, you’re ok…?”

“Yes.” He winces slightly at how harsh it sounded as it came out before taking a breath and shrugging slightly. “I’m…ok. Just some things with the team are a bit…” _Heartbreaking._ “…difficult.”

“Ok. You know if you want to talk to me you can?”

“Thanks, I know.”

“Good. Have a good day, Santi. Hope it works out better.” She drops a brief kiss on the top of his head before heading for the door. “Just remember you’re champions of the world…”

*

“Coffee?”

“No thanks.”

“Toast-“

“No, thank you.”

Julia and Roser share a look, Marc like this for a good few days now, and sigh slightly in time as he seems to sense the ‘are you ok’ conversation about to start and walks out.

“Any idea-“

“None.”

*

“Hey.”

_Sometimes I swear you’re the baby brother._ Alex smiles weakly at him, pulling him into a hug when he watches the _yeah it’s not good_ reply spark in his brother’s eyes, before squeezing and letting him go. “Sure you want to-“

“Don’t really have a ch-“

“You always have a choice.”

“Superprestigio.”

“Which you can pull out of if you want to.”

“What?!”

“What?”

“I can’t?!”

“Yeah, you can. I’m guessing you don’t want to.”

“No I don’t want to?!”

“Ok, I’m just checking, because I’m not really sure what else to do, ok?”

“Sorry, I know. I know. I just…” _Wish I could rewind and replay this all a bit better._ “I’m sure once I’m into it I’ll be fine.”

“Ok.” The younger brother nods, understanding that, and claps him on the shoulder before they both turn to the sound of the approaching car and watch Tito wave, Alex waving back and Marc too, but weakly. That earns him another hug, another concerned look but with more questioning as to why, before he’s finally sat staring off the line feeling more like himself. _Maybe it’ll be like this for a while. Feeling nothing that isn’t fuelled by petrol. Except the crying._

*

“Good day?”

“No.”

She looks at the sad figure at the table and wraps him up with a hug from behind, able to do that with him sat down, and gives him a squeeze. “Maybe we’re not the marriage everyone expects, Santi. But we did this for a reason, because we can be what the other needs, ok? So talk to me.” She waits a couple of seconds, worried it’s not going to happen, before hanging onto him as he starts to talk, first pointing at the computer screen in front of him and gritting his teeth at what’s on it: Marc’s face, tax evasion, moving to Andorra. _Witch hunt._

*

“Is he still outside?”

“Yeah.” Alex nods and bites his lip slightly, pretty upset as everyone is at the things suddenly screaming at them from all sides after the ‘revelation’ that Marc Marquez, reigning World Champion, would dare move out of his parents’ house into one of his own in a place that speaks the same language and offers the best opportunities for a private life with good training opportunities. “I’m a bit worried now, to be honest.”

“Hmm it’s taking a bit longer than normal for the smile to come back, eh?” Julia ruffles the taller brother’s hair on his way past, catching Roser’s eye and sharing one of those classic parent looks, before she nods at him and heads outside, always, when it comes to Marc, the nominated one.

*

“Hey. Aren’t you cold?”

“Not really.”

“Ok. I’m going to make dinner soon, what would you like?”

“Anything.”

“Did you have a good day at Rufea?”

“Was ok. I was quick but it didn’t feel right.”

“Feel right?”

“Felt closer to the edge than normal but wasn’t as fast. Edgy.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve read-“

“Yeah.” His lip wobbles slightly, looking away to try and hide it as best possible but that always impossible when it comes to Roser, with any member of the family but especially _Marc_ , before he shrugs slightly and looks back at the floor. “I’m trying to not let it affect me. You know, people love you until they’re bored of loving you…”

_I have a feeling this isn't quite what we're talking about here._ “Oh baby, what happened. Something else?”

“Hmm.”

She pulls him into a hug, feeling himself let go a bit and bury his head in her shoulder, before giving him a few minutes to calm down and then asking again, everything starting to make a bit more sense with each word, especially the lack of Alzamora both her and Julia had noticed since the story ‘broke’. _Oh my poor baby._

*

“Did I make the right decision?”

“I don’t know because I don’t know him very well.”

“But you understand-“

“I understand. And I understand you’ve done everything because you love him. You love him, don’t you?”

“Yes.” That word is the most sure of the whole conversation. “Yes I really do.”

_This would seem a little weird to most couples. But then so would my girlfriend staying over on weekends._ She squeezes his hand across the table before taking a breath and holding his gaze. “You’re still going to the Superprestigio-“

“Yeah. Can't run away. He didn't fire me, so...”

*

_I really could do without this today._ He smiles his best version of a Marquez smile as he greets everyone and makes his way through the throng of irritating little tasks to be done and updates to be lived through, before he’s stood waiting to go out for the press conference and that, _of course_ he thinks to himself, is the moment the familiar face appears. _You had to do it now._

*

He knows from the way Marc sees him and reacts that he’d made the right decision, initially, which had been to try and leave it until he was already in the press conference to arrive, trying to limit the damage, not wanting to affect him before he had to be seen in public. And he almost does it, except for that last moment that Marc seems to think he’s created on purpose when he realises a couple of minutes later is what he'd just judged wrong.

*

“Ok 5 minutes-“

“I need a bit longer.”

“Marc we’re supposed to-“

“Yeah I know, I will be back in a minute.”

He’s not sure what he’s going to say to him, not sure why he wants to talk to him at all, really, but he’s walking towards him and Santi is watching him coming like he’s about to be burnt at the stake, before they’re face to face and Marc is half dragging him into a side room and staring him down, emotion hitting him like a brick wall. “You’re still here.”

“Should I not have-“

“You just walk in like nothing-“

“I told you to tell me if you thought I should leave the team-“

“It’s not that simple though is it, Santi? It’s not that simple when you break someone’s fucking heart and-“ His voice, now much too loud for the situation, dies as the door opens and they both turn to see Emilio with an unreadable but certainly displeased expression on his face, Marc finding that some kind of new final straw and slamming out past him.

“Don’t worry, we’re not _fucking_ anymore.”

*

He’d not really planned it, but the frustration is too much and he finds himself sitting down and staring at the sea of faces obviously waiting for some word of it anyway, and he ends up gritting his teeth and nodding to himself before he starts to talk, feeling better for a little while, like he’s got a tiny bit of the power back with the explanation, before it gets to 2011 and he feels it all start to come crashing down as he lets his own words sink in.

_2011\. When I thought I’d never be able to move out at all because I couldn’t see. When I thought I’d never make any money for them to decide what I should do with it. When I felt like I couldn’t ever have ended up here._ He tries to control it and leans forward on the mic. _2011 when Santi propped me up every single day and I thought he’d do that every single time I needed it._


	11. Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this. It's entirely my fault! I'll be posting another chapter later today to make it up to you all! Lyra x

Nursing his pint, the beer flat and warm by now, Santi sighed, wistful and sad, the hangover from the Andorra fuss making his heart ache, wanting to comfort Marc, but being told, firmly, by Alex, to stay away. Remembering the times they'd come to this place, a small, some would say grotty, bar, up a side street, hidden from anywhere Santi's eyes closed, trying to hold back the tears that burned his eyes.

-

Standing outside the bar, hood up, scarf round his face, everything bar his red rimmed eyes hidden, protecting him from the cold and recognition Marc froze, pulled his hand back from the door handle and rested against the wall. The memory of being there, being there with Santi, the older man calming nerves about moving to MotoGP, guiding him through breaking up with the girl who turned out not to be as trustworthy as he thought and all the little chit chats about nothing, and _everything_. Swallowing down a sob Marc shook his head, walking away, too upset to notice the door open, and the taller man, wrapped up against the cold and recognition, walking out, taking the opposite way down the lane, the memory of the place too much for them both.

*

One eye opening Alex frowned, confused, wondering where the injured animal was, the noise going straight though him, making him shudder, then the sudden realisation making him jump out of bed, dash along the hallway, throw open his brother's door and wrap the crying, howling, ball of sobs in his arms, "Come on, ssshhh, it's ok..."

"S'not ok... S'all wrong... Everything is wrong... Everybody hates me and Santi is gone... He's gone..."

Closing his eyes, hugging Marc tighter, Alex shook his head, "He's not gone Marc..."

"He HAS!" Rocking in Alex's grip Marc wept, "It's worse because he's not gone gone. He's gone from me, but he's still here... He's here, but he's not mine any more... I love him Alex, I love him and I had him and I lost him and I don't know what to doooooo...."

Letting Marc sob on his shoulder Alex, not for the first time, wished they were still in Cervera, still young enough for when Roser and Julia could wrap them in a hug, tell them it would be alright and they believed it.

*

"There's a Christmas market..."

Shaking his head Santi interrupted her, "You go..."

"Santi..."

Shrugging his shoulders, not even putting up the pretence of being ok, Santi sighed, "Just, please, just let me be. I can't shrug it off, I can't move on and I can't just put a happy face and pretend everything is alright. I can't..."

"I don't like leaving you on your own," Faltering, she looked at him, honest concern on her face, "Santi... You wouldn't... I mean you're not feeling bad enough to..."

Shaking his head Santi bit his lip, "No... I couldn't do that to him."

"That's not the most reassuring thing you've ever said..."

"It's the truth," Santi put his head in his hands, "I wouldn't saddle him with that guilt... In time I'll be able to say it for me too."

"I'll not be long," Pressing a kiss to his head, friendly, genuine and warm, she smiled, "I'll bring you back something nice."

Hardly hearing her leave Santi looked out of the window, drizzly rain making people pull their hoods up and rush along the paths. A day for being indoors and hiding from the weather, weather that summed up Santi's mood perfectly. Bleak.

*

"We don't see you here often these days...."

Nodding, keeping his false smile friendly, Santi sighed, "Busy, busy; you know how it is."

"I can only imagine," Pointing to a row of bikes the gatekeeper smiled, "You're the only one here so help yourself. Kit is still where it always was."

"Thanks," Santi smiled, getting out of his car, not bothering to lock it because they were in the middle of nowhere, "Just a few laps, blow off some cobwebs."

"Help yourself..."

-

Alex smiled, hoping it looked less awkward than it felt, "We were just wondering if we could run some laps? We've got bikes and kit in the van..."

"Of course," Grinning wide the gateman waved them in, "Not likely I'm going to turn the world champions of MotoGP and Moto3 away! The boss would have my guts for garters!"

"We were hoping for privacy..." Marc shrugged, sounding half defeated, glad when the gateman wiped his lips with his fingers and mimed throwing away the key, "Thanks..."

-

"Thanks very much," Shaking the man's hand, tearing around on a bike always helping, Marc's smile was genuine, "It's a nice track you've got here."

Tilting his head side-to-side, bashful and modest, the man, Miguel, smiled, "It's small, but we like it. Tell your friend thanks for the recommendation. After his crash I'm surprised he didn't tell you to avoid us!"

"Sorry?" Marc frowned, confused.

Miguel winced, shaking his head, "He was going too fast, not really concentrating. He was lucky he landed on the soft stuff. Anyway, tell Santi I said thanks and hope his hand is better soon."

"Right..." Marc's chest tightened, the mere thought of Santi being hurt, in any way, making his stomach toss and turn, "Did he go to hospital?"

Phone in hand, babbling to another customer, Miguel nodded, "Yes. His wife came for him. Asked where the nearest was. Down to the end of the road, turn left, left again and then right. It's behind the church so if you get lost use the bell tower as a guide."

*

"Marc," Alex paused, choosing his words carefully, "I don't want to be rude, but we've been sat here for an hour..."

"I know, I know..." Head on the dashboard, his heart racing at the sight of Santi's car in the small car park, Marc shook his head, "No. No, let's go home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Looking at the car, knowing if he saw Santi, hurt, he wouldn't be able to hide anything from anyone Marc sighed, "Let's go."

-

" **STOP!** Alex stop! I want to go back," Tears in his eyes, feeling useless and weak and pathetic, Marc bit his lip, "Please take me back, I need to know he's ok."

Swinging the car round, surprised Marc had made it four miles up the road by changing his mind, Alex said nothing, having realised that the thing with Santi was **more** , and more complicated, than he, Emilio, and perhaps even Marc and Santi had originally realised.

-

"Alright?"

Letting her clip the seat belt Santi nodded, feeling stupid and foolish, "Yeah, thanks."

"No worries," Closing the door, she walked round the car, got in the other side, "Home?"

"Please," Santi closed his eyes, relief flooding through him that he'd walked out the hospital with 3 stitches and some bruising.

-

"He's gone..." Voice small, like a small child who'd lost his favourite toy, Marc looked at the space where Santi's car had been, before turning to Alex, tears filling his eyes, "He's gone..."

"Well," Alex smiled kindly, "That's good, in a way, it means he's ok..."

"Yeah..." Not sounding convinced, or happy, Marc slumped in his seat, head on the window, "Can we go home please?"

"We could..."

"I want to go home," Eyes locked on the space, emptiness in his belly, Marc bit his lip, "Please take me home..."

*

Emilio                            Honda want some photographs. Team have to arrive in Cervera for 6pm.

Santi                              I'm not actually feeling very well, I'm not sure I'll make it.

Emilio                            You'll make it. This is Marc's celebration with his fan club. You will not make it about you.

Santi                              That's not what I'm doing.

Emilio                            It will be if you are not here. Be here. On time and with a fucking smile on your face.

*

"Is he ok?" Julia frowned, Marc sat on the sofa, supposedly watching tv, but with glazed over eyes and a face that gave away the fact he was clearly distracted.

Glancing at Marc, memories of the tears, and the beer, and the announcement he was bailing on his own fan club Christmas event, making him consider telling the truth for a second, Alex smiled, "Yeah, think he's still a bit shook up by the Andorra thing. He'll be fine, he's Marc..."

"Right," Not completely convinced, Julia smiled sadly, "I feel like we underprepared you boys for that. Of all the things I thought they'd jump on him for, it wasn't that..."

Clapping his arm around his father's shoulders Alex smiled, "You underprepared us for nothing, you know he just takes things to heart sometimes. He'll bounce back, we'll make sure of it."

*

"Ready?" Smile on his face mostly faked Alex popped his head round the bathroom door to chivvy Marc along, letting the smile slip at the look from his brother, a lost look of sadness, "It'll be alright. We'll go along, we'll have some fun with the fan club people, we'll have some beer and then we'll come home. Then it'll be winter and we can just be ourselves without having to put any masks on. Ok?"

Marc nodded, knowing in his heart he owed the people who ran, and joined, his fan club this one event, fastened the last button of his shirt with fumbly fingers, before having a last check of his hair, and face, in the mirror, "Let's do it..."

*

"Ok one more guys, smile!" Letting his camera click the photographer blinded them all with the brightness of his flashgun, "Right, Honda want one of Marc with Emilio and one of Marc with Santi so who is up first? Santi?"

Having strategically placed himself along the line, he and Marc having successfully avoided each other for thirty minutes so far Santi froze, his smile faltering slightly, before a sharp look from Emilio saw him nod and shuffle to Marc's side, the photographer's encouragement seeing arms go round backs, Marc moving closer until Santi could smell the shampoo in his hair, painting on the grin he raised his other fist in the air " _Campeón!"_

_*_

"Your hand..."

Freezing, his sneak toward the exit stopped by Marc's voice hitting him like a tonne of bricks, Santi looked over his shoulder, Marc with his hands pushed in his pockets, swaying slightly through champagne and beer, looking younger than usual with sad eyes, "It's fine, just a cut..."

"He said you were lucky. The man at the track," Leaning against the wall for support Marc's eyes locked on the dark thread on Santi's hand, his voice faltering as the thought of Santi being hurt made his body shudder again, "He said you were lucky..."

Unsure how Marc knew, and feeling swamped with guilt for how sad he looked on his night, Santi turned, leant against the wall, holding the injured limb up, "I was lucky, but it's fine now. See, just a few stitches."

"You're really ok?" Instinctively reaching out, a finger tracing the cut, both of them shivering at the contact, Marc looked up, his finger still resting on Santi's hand, "Please tell me that you're ok?"

Eyes fluttering shut, fighting the temptation to lean in, capture Marc's lips with his own, Santi shrugged, "My hand is ok..."

"Santi..." Marc flinched when a hand landed on his shoulder, Emilio's voice cutting through the moment, ordering him back to the function, reminding him, again, how much he owed the fans, leaving Santi, leaning on the wall, wondering how he could escape, Marc's glance over his shoulder, the silent plea making him stay.

*

"I should go..." Panicking, desperately trying not to show it, Santi smiled politely, regretting the decision to help Julia get Marc and Alex home, Marc wanting to go clubbing and Alex unable to walk after joining in a sambuca challenge with a particularly pretty girl with a tougher liver.

Catching his arm Roser, slightly tipsy on champagne and pride, laughed, "Santi Hernandez, do you really think I'm going to let you try and make your way home alone now? Absolutely not. You take Alex's room."

"I shouldn't..." Feeling the willpower drain under Roser's stern face, Santi babbled, "Alex might want his bed..."

Looking at her prone son on the sofa Roser chuckled, "He wouldn't be able to find his room even if he did make it up the stairs... No, I'll hear no arguments, you have Alex's room..."

"I..."

"Are you trying to offend me Santi?" Roser gave him the look she so often used on her boys, smiling when Santi shook his head, "Good. That's sorted then. Marc will lend you some sleepwear. Goodnight."

"Goodnight..." Walking up the stairs, following Julia and Marc, all of them dispatched to bed like children, Roser propping the bucket under Alex before following them, Santi could only imagine the look he was going to get when Emilio heard about this.


	12. Sleep

"Hmm?"

"Ssh. It's ok."

"Mmm..." Letting sleep wash back over him Santi smiled softly at the warm heat as the other body half draped over him; head resting on his arm, leg draped over his and the rest pressed against his side as he drifted off.

"Goodnight Santi..."

"Night Marc..." Startling, almost knocking Marc out of the bed, Santi sat bolt upright, voice a low hiss of surprise more than annoyance, "Marc? What are you doing?"

"Going to bed," Drunk enough to risk it Marc smiled his coyest smiled, the need to be close to Santi overwhelming him, "Please... Just sleep."

"Marc..." Santi ran his fingers through his hair, almost ready to cry, the feeling of Marc so close again like ripping the scab from a graze, reopening the wound and making it sting again, "Marc no..."

"Please Santi... I know I can't have you, I don't know why I can't, but I can't..." His face illuminated by cracks of light sneaking through the blinds and under the door, the hall light left on for Alex's sake, Marc sniffed, a tear rolling down his cheek, "But just for tonight can't I just have this? Just to sleep."

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"It's supposed to be the best time of my life. I won the title. I bought my first house. I slept with the man I love, and who I thought loved me back. I won Superprestigo **and** it's nearly Christmas..." Marc's body began to shake, low sobs escaping him as his words became stuttered, "I shshshshould have it aaaaall, but I hhhhhaven't. IIIII've got nnnn nnnn nnothing."

"No, no, that's not true," Pulling Marc into a hug, his heart breaking, Santi fought back the tears, "You've got the title, and you deserved that title so fucking much. I'm so proud of you... And you've still got your house and the fuckers who jumped on your for that are just jealous. Jealous and nasty. They do it to all of you - to Jorge for his house, to Dani for being injured too much, to Aleix for being too happy. They are fucking bastards, Marc, fucking bastards who are not worth your tears."

"It hhhurts," Clinging to Santi, fingers digging into the skin of his back, Marc wept, fat, wet tears dripping down Santi's chest, one of Santi's arms around Marc, holding him tight, fingers of the other hand in Marc's hair, stroking gently, soothing him with whispered words, calming him with shushes and gentle kindness, "Santi..."

"It's ok..." Taking a sharp breath as Marc looked up at him, wide eyes glassy with tears, cheeks damp, lips swollen from being bitten in a bid not to wake the whole house, Santi stroked his hand down Marc's face, his own voice soft, quiet and wrecked, "Don't let them do this to you baby, just don't. You are worth far more than this...."

"Please Santi..." Leaning in, pressing his mouth to Santi's, lips closed, kiss chaste, but warm, Marc pulled back, biting his lip, "Please let me stay. I _need_ you..."

"Just to sleep..."

"Promise..." Snuggling into Santi, the older man falling back onto the pillow, Marc sniffed, "It feels safe here. With you."

"Marc..." Voice cracking Santi quickly wiped away a tear, "Just... sleep... Please..."

*

Daring to open his eyes, Marc's breathing steady and rhythmical, eyes closed, finally asleep, Santi let out a long, slow breath. The dim light of the room hid the redness and dark circles around and under the young champ's eyes, instead Santi got a glimpse of _his_ Marc, relaxed, hint of a smile on his lips, peaceful and beautiful. Brushing stray strands of hair from his forehead, as delicately as possible so as not to wake him, Santi bit back a sob.

Marc dream was to win the MotoGP title, Santi had seen him chase that dream for so long and the feeling of watching him achieve that in 2013 was beyond anything he'd ever felt before. The first title had felt like seeing a young boy grow into a man and Santi's feelings were just pride, unrelenting pride. Since then, however, Marc had changed, without changing very much, which was confusing for Santi until he'd realised, until one day he'd looked at Marc and realised that the younger man affected his body as much as he did his heart and brain. He'd hidden it for so long, resigned to watching Marc meet someone and love them, somehow convincing himself that it would be ok, trying to believe the old adage of loving someone enough to let them go.

Emilio catching them had been a nightmare, the beginning of the worst few weeks of Santi's life. He knew he should get up, leave the bed and the room because he knew it was making it worse. Reminding himself of the little snuffly sounds Marc made in his sleep, of how the relaxed muscles in Marc's back felt under his fingertips, of how Marc's hips occasionally twitched against him, his cock not fully soft, sparking reminders of the noises, and faces, Marc made in the motorhome; reminding himself of what he couldn't have was crazy, but still he couldn't leave, the chance of even a few short hours of _Marc_ worth too much to walk away from the resultant agonies of later.

Closing his eyes Santi pressed the softest kiss to Marc's hair, promising himself he'd be up early, gone before Marc woke - promising himself this would be the last.

*

Keeping his eyes shut until Santi's breathing changed, the older man _finally_ drifting off to sleep, Marc let a few silent tears fall.

He'd let Santi think he was asleep, knowing the older man would want him to sleep first, but him not wanting to waste a single second of the time in Santi's arms sleeping. Snuggling in a little tighter, hoping a few tears falling on his chest wouldn't wake him, Marc cried silently. He was where he should be, he was where he desperately wanted to be, yet it made him feel empty and bereft because he knew he wouldn't be there again. Tracing his fingers over Santi's chest, the bristly hair under his fingertips, tickling his chin, he closed his eyes as he pressed his lips to Santi's skin, wishing he could trace every inch of him, to commit it to memory, sure that no other body, no other person would ever make him feel the way Santi would.

Not for the first time he wondered about packing it all in, giving up on MotoGP, running away to live in the hills of Andorra, privately. He could afford it, if he was careful, and, somewhat scarily for someone who'd know what he wanted to do since he was 4-years-old, he thought it might be better. People would only care about Marc Marquez while he was "Marc Marquez MotoGP star". If he was just "Marc Marquez" then he could have a boyfriend, he could have a private life that nobody else actually gave a fuck about. If he was just Marc Marquez he could be happy.

*

Disorientated, the room unfamiliar and not sure what woke him, Santi blinked a few times, before the soft sobbing hit him. Instantly tightening his grip, he pulled Marc tight to him, pulling the blanket higher, the younger man shaking, "Hey, hey come on... Sssh.... It's ok...."

"It's not..." Marc sobbed, voice getting higher, making Santi nervous he'd wake his parents, parents who'd no doubt be as horrified as Emilio, "I love you... I lllllove yyyou... Why is that nnnot eenough? Wwwwhy?"

"Hey..." Hand on the back of Marc's neck, fingers stroking his skin, Santi closed his eyes, pressing their foreheads together, tears falling onto his own cheeks, "You know that's not... You know you are enough..."

"Not..." Marc sniffed, losing control, everything overwhelming him and becoming too much, "What if it's nnot ever eenough? What if I'm 'lone fffffforver...."

"No!" Tilting Marc's head up, hand on his face, Santi shook his head, "No don't you dare think that! This is nothing to do with you... It's not about us it's about... It's about the shitty, judgemental world we live in. It's not, not, **not** about you... You are amazing... Please **please** don't do this to yourself, _please_..."

"It's not fair..."

"No," Santi sighed, letting his tears roll down his face unwiped, agreeing, "It's not. Not at all."

"Why can't people let us be? I love you..." Opening his eyes, taking a breath at how close Santi was Marc leant in, pressing their mouths together again, chaste first, then tongues joining in, slipping and sliding, both of them tasting tears, hands not moving, still clinging to each other, nothing leading anywhere, just two heartbroken people trying to kiss away the pain inflicted by others, clinging onto the liferaft of the only person who understood until they both drifted into restless sleep.


	13. Hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! ♥ thanks!

_I’m hungover._ That’s definitely the first thing he manages to process as he slowly trudges back to consciousness, nothing from why or how clear in his head at all until the same hollow pain in the middle of his chest re-announces itself, before his brain has even remembered why. He starts to move, about to bury his head back in the pillow, before the reality of the situation suddenly rushes up to meet him and he realises he’s one of two in the bed, and snippets of the night before start to flash through his mind. _Santi. Crying. Alex drunk out of his mind. That’s where we ended up. I snuck into Alex’s room because you were here._ He tentatively moves his fingers over the chest he realises they’re resting on, ghost of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth as it’s enough to confirm that that part, at least, wasn’t a dream, before feeling himself grab onto the older man a bit tighter as the last little replay ends up on a loop in his head, _crying and crying and crying, just because we can’t be here forever._

*

 _Marc is here; Marc came into the room._ He remembers that much at least. _Marc cried his eyes out and held onto me like I was the last raft leaving the sinking ship._ That memory, so vivid he can almost hear the sound again now, makes him hang onto him a bit tighter again, no common sense or thought process or _we can’t do this_ intruding on the simple truth of the moment, and he realises the younger rider must be awake as well or on the way to being so as the two reactions coincide and they both end up more or less how they had been in those last few minutes before sleep; nobody wanting to admit they are awake and break the moment, as though it’s a well-kept secret if they don’t say it out loud. _And it was a well kept secret, me and you, until…until._

That wakes him up a bit more, eyes open now and looking down at the perfection draped around him as he bites his lip and tries not to make the reaction obvious. _And in another world, we could have this every day. And I would wake you up and we’d smile into a kiss and we’d take a few minutes for ourselves before the day. Maybe we’d end up in the shower and your hair would get flattened onto your head and the water would run down over your nose, eyes still open under the stream, somehow, spluttering at me as we end up pressed against the tiles._

“Santi.”

_In another world._

*

 _I don’t know how I’m ever going to leave this bed once you have. Although maybe it’s all fine now and you won’t._ He smiles sadly to himself, feeling that create another lump in his throat, before daring to move his hand over the older man’s and squeeze, head buried in the crook of his neck and braced, almost, for the inevitable moment when the heat source is gone and the bed is as cold as his own has looked for way too long, finding his breath catch slightly as instead, Santi moves slightly to put his arm round him and pull him in, hand resting in the small of the younger rider’s back and both pausing a second before something snaps and Marc’s hands are in his hair, lips finding each other and mouths opening, gasp shared into the kiss as the desperation takes over for a second and finds them locked together. Santi can feel the younger rider balanced on the edge somehow, the difference between when they’d not had to say anything to explain what they were doing and now more than apparent; Marc waiting for a signal of how far he’s allowed to go or what’s coming next, which he gets as Santi’s mouth opens to let him in and their tongues slide together, muffling the low groan from both that vibrates between them and making them both shiver into it. It’s Santi who pulls him closer and feels the hardness press against his own, Santi who pushes him back into the pillow, and Santi whose teeth nip at his lip, before he’s tracing a path of wet kiss down Marc’s front and wrapping his fingers around his cock, hot breath hovering and the first twitch of the younger man’s hips gives away the frustration. _I don’t know what we’re going to do later, or tomorrow, or every day after that. But I’d do anything to be able to make you come apart like this just one more time._ The noise Marc makes as the wet heat closes around him is more a purr, desperation forcing his breathing shallower and shallower and fingers tangling in Santi’s curls, before he’s almost embarrassed by how quickly he feels himself bucking for more and swearing under his breath, coming down the older man’s throat with a wail at the ceiling he prays to God no one else in the house hears. It takes him a while to get his breath back and the use of his brain back, laid out and staring at the ceiling for a few long seconds before curling up next to him again and burying his head in his chest, still nothing said and not sure what to say or how, staying like that for a couple of minutes until it’s another kiss fuelled by the same desperation they can read in each other too well, along with a few notes in the margin about the future and doom and how bad an idea it is; neither able to stop and deal with anything else but the feeling of here and now. Marc manages to make it under the covers and lock eyes with the brown ones that can’t tear themselves away from him for a couple of seconds before he licks his lips and starts to dip his head, wet tongue eliciting a little grunt that dies on Santi’s tongue as the door bangs open and they freeze. _Oh God._

“Arghhhhh!!”

_Alex. Oh God._

“Santi! You’re in here! What are y…I… _arggghhhhhhhhhh_ ok sorry, so sorry, please don’t…I mean…that’s my bed!” The younger Marquez flounders around for another few uselessly filled seconds, caught between horror and sheer embarrassment, before it really sinks in that it’s MARC under those sheets with his mouth God-knows-where, noise heard before he walked in suddenly making horrible sense, and that it’s in HIS sheets and bed. _Blowing Santi Hernandez in my fucking bed. And Argghhhhhh._

“Has he gone-“

The door banging shut again after the words have left his lips leave Marc cringing, again, obviously the answer having been no, before the reality and futility of a quick not-even-fuck on a random winter morning sinks in again and he collapses into the sheets next to the older man, waiting, again, for the inevitable dip in the mattress as Santi leaves. _Just do it, who are we kidding._

“Marc.”

“Hmm.”

“What are we going to do.”

 _What are WE doing to do?!_ The Repsol rider turns again, eyes open and finding equally haunted ones waiting for him, before sighing and lacing their fingers together. “What do you mean.”

 _I mean I tried walking off once and I wanted to keep walking until I walked off the edge of the world._ “I mean I love you and there must be something we can do.”

“Do?” _To put it out, or to ignore all those voices in our heads that you think are right._

It’s not words than come next, Santi’s fingers gently finding their way into Marc’s hair and pulling him close enough to press a kiss to his forehead, before he’s wrapped around him again, kiss finding traction again, cheeks salty again, and fingertips digging in again. _I love you, so there must be something we can do. Right?_


	14. Laundry Service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the break, guys! It's back :D thanks for the kudos boost! ♥ - 994527

_My fucking bed and MY fucking sheets with GOD KNOWS WHAT on them in MY ROOM and MY BED-_ Alex is downstairs again, in record time, slamming around the kitchen making himself a well-earned coffee, desperate to forget both the image and the _mewl_ from his brother’s crew chief that he’d heard in those last fateful seconds of innocence. _My sheets, MY SHEETS and in MY BED-_ He stops again, fairly sure he’s hearing Marc and Santi getting up upstairs, before having a small fit as he realises that that’s definitely not what’s happening. _Ok well at least everyone else is out-_ There’s another muffled bang that finally proves too much, the younger Marquez heading straight for the front door and a risky but safer-than-this public coffee establishment. _I’m hungover enough I don’t want to hear-_

“ _Santi…_ ”

*

“I don’t know what’s going to happen-“

“Nobody has to-“

“But this has been too-“

“I know, I know-“

Santi cuts him off again with another kiss, younger rider straddling him and conversation difficult but necessary, if nothing else then just to allay his fears slightly, fingernails digging into the skin of his rider with a groan as Marc slowly pushes down onto him. Marc lets himself almost fall forward and chest to chest, face to face once they’re both able to breathe again, kiss slower and more expressive as he feels Santi’s hips start to move and laces their fingers together, this time needing to be slower and more careful and say a lot more that the animalistic trap they’d sometimes fallen into, feeling the demons start to melt away slightly and groaning into the older man’s mouth. _Why did you think you could just leave._

*

Alex: I hope you aren’t at home

Julia: Thanks son, I take it the hangover is bad :D

Alex: Don’t use emojis about my pain

Alex: But no it’s not so bad I’m at Antoni’s café for coffee

Alex: Home was too cringeworthy! Could have told me they were in my room. I left them to it.

 _And my fucking BRAIN at HOME._ He stares down at what he’s just put, evil little **delivered** hovering underneath it to remind him it’s impossible to take back, before feeling himself go white hot and take a few panicked breaths. _Oh shit shit shit-_

Julia: What?!

Julia: They?! What?!

Julia: Your mother wants to know what you mean

_**Dad calling** _

_Fuuuuuck_

_**Mum calling** _

_Supermassive fuuucckkk_

Alex: I’ve fucked up quite badly and I’m really sorry and hope you won’t be angry and everything’s fine.

Alex: I’m going to leave the country now x

Marc: ???????

Alex: I forgot mum and dad didn’t know

_**Marc calling** _

“FUCK.”

Alex: I’m not going to answer I’m just very sorry and very hungover. <3

Marc: What did they say?

Alex: I didn’t answer

Marc: You’re so helpful

Alex: I’m so sorry :/

Marc: Can you just answer them and give me a heads up on the reaction please…

Alex: Nooooo please I don’t want to :)

Alex: That was meant to be a :(

Marc: Yeah well today wasn’t meant to be :( it was meant to be :) so answer the fucking phone you hungover little shit

Alex: :O?!

Marc: Jejeje

Marc: I hope you panicked :P please answer though, see what they say?

Alex: Pffffffff

Alex: Ok :P

 _3, 2, 1..._ Deep breath.“Hi...”

_“Alex Marquez you’d better explain yourself-”_

“Um…well I’m really hungover. Well, un po. And then some other stuff pasó…and it made everything worse…so I left the house…and then I make a mistake…” _in the final chicane and-_

_“Speak one language or the other and explain what you mean.”_

_Urgh did I not even manage whole sentences._ “Ok I think you know exactly what I meant. I forgot you didn’t know. I’m not saying it out loud because I’m in public but they’re in a relationship, or they were. I don’t know now but they slept in MY room and URGH. Emilio knows too and he was very against it so now you should talk to Marc-“

_“Don’t you put the phone down-“_

“Ok but I did say everything I know so-“

_“If this is a joke-“_

“It’s not a joke. I think they love each other. I’m going now mama and I’m sorry. ‘ta luego.”

Alex: Shock but not negative. I said it quick and got out of it really before too much reaction tbh

Alex: I didn’t do a good job of it but I mentioned you love each other which I’m guessing is why you’re willing to make Emilio very very angry…

Marc: We’re not thinking about Emilio yet but yes we do. I’ve no idea if there’s anything to know tbh but feels like they should

Marc: Thanks for doing my dirty laundry bro, maybe forgiven

Marc: And there’s more waiting for you at home ;) :D jajajaja

Alex: I hate you

Marc: Besitos :P

*

The reaction at home on the sofa, now sat next to each other staring into coffee that had been made and apparently, abandoned by his younger brother, wasn’t quite as relaxed as the texts, until Marc felt himself leaning into the older man and felt his arm go round him, and felt that same little familiar _I am indestructible_ flutter of feeling creep back in. _You’re so good for me. And you need to be._ “I really hope you’re not too angry at him-“

“No, I’m not angry. I’m worried your parents are going to-“

“My parents won’t be angry, I promise. My mum will be annoyed we didn’t tell them sooner, but I think it will be ok. With them at least…” _But then Emilio and the team-_

“With them at least.”

“I’m sorry I’m trying to be positive-“

“Don’t be sorry. _I’m_ sorry.”

“You don’t be sorry.”

“I think I should be-“

“No.” The rider shook his head, hand instinctively going to Santi’s knee to reassure him. “It’s a hard situation and I understand.”

 _But I broke your heart-_ “You know I love you-“

“Yeah.” That almost makes him blush slightly, the way it’s said as though it’s the most natural truth in the world, and the way he replies sounding as sure about it as he knows he is. “Yes, I know that. And I love you. You know _that._ ” He turns back to get eye contact and feels warmth spread through him at the visible emotion in his crew chief’s eyes. “And you know I’m an adult, and you know that everything is up to us and no one else-“

“Yes.”

“And you know I think they’re home.” He leans in for a brief kiss, fingers lacing together in that kind of ‘over the top of the trench’ gesture of solidarity, before he feels Santi squeeze back in response. _You must love me because our lives are about to change so much and you didn’t get out the bed-_

“Marc?” His mother’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding more like she’s calling him in from playing football as a kid on the street. _You don’t know I talked to Alex. Fair play._

One more look. “Hi. In here...”

“Hi. And Santi.” That word seems a bit more nervous to say, before Marc watches both sets of parental eyes fix on their hands, still intertwined. _Please prove me right._

“I talked to Alex already mama-“

Her shoulders drop slightly, obviously some nerves from the pretence having been hidden in them, before she nods and lets herself smile, almost sadly. “He was telling the truth wasn’t he.” 

“Y-yeah.” _What does THAT face mean-_

“And you’re serious.”

“Y-yes. Yes, we are serious…” The crew chief tries his hardest to not give away the stress, always having been welcomed by them but never as the Much Older Boyfriend Of Their Son, nerves starting to fray. “I’m serious…”

“Ok.” She watches the little gestures between them, Marc’s thumb rubbing Santi’s hand almost invisibly, the posture as they’re sat there, and then lets a little reel of past moments go through her brain as she tries to take it in. _You really are a lot older-_ “And Emilio knows.”

“Emilio tried to stop us-“

“Calm down, son. Emilio knows?”

“Yeah…”

“And he disapproves.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he thinks I’m taking advantage of your son.” Santi finds his voice again, cringing slightly at the 19th-Centuty courtship of the tone, before taking a deep breath and shaking his head. “I’m not. We tried to not love each other but we love each other, and we trust each other…and I think that’s all I can say-”

“I think that’s all you have to say.” She nods, situation weighed up and apprehension real but outweighed by what’s in front of her, before checking Julia seems to agree. “You’ve had coffee now what are you doing about food?”

 _I love you so much._ He feels Santi’s disbelief, obviously not having expected this at all, and starts to smile before getting up to grab her into a hug, eyes finding Julia’s over her shoulder and hopefully repeating the feeling to him. “I knew you’d respect it-“

 _Baby._ She hangs onto the hug for a few seconds, feeling the same thing as her son from the opposition direction, before giving him a final squeeze and pulling away to hold his face in her hands. “We do but you know you agreed you’d tell us-“

“I know mama, I know-“

“Good!” She pulls him in to whack a kiss on his cheek before smiling at Santi, him almost teary with relief, and then setting off for the kitchen. “Eggs or-“

“Please!”


	15. I See Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. Maybe it was the cycling picture. Fair warning this is E rated and I have my blush face on.
> 
> Enjoy..? :/ ;) 
> 
> ♥
> 
> 994527

“Can we just leave for a while?”

“Leave.”

“Just…go away, for a bit. Forget about Andorra and Emilio and everything and just…” He takes a deep breath and laces their fingers together. “Just spend some time together…?” _Please._

 _If this lasts, will it ever not amaze me that YOU want to do that with ME._ “Really?”

“Which bit…”

“You want to go on holiday or something? With me?”

“Santi?” He snuggles in a bit closer, wrapped up on the sofa together in Cervera and watching TV alone in the house, and locks eyes with him across the makeshift pillow. “I really missed you even though it wasn’t for very long, and I…” He shrugs, a bit lost for how to say it and not tipsy enough to dare, before leaning into a kiss and nuzzling into him, surrounded and safe and just about the most relaxed he can remember ever having felt. “I love you and I think it would be good for us to just…be us for a while. Before…”

“Before.” _‘I love you.’ He just says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world._

“Before we have to face Emilio. Because last time-“

“Last time I was an idiot-“

“No, last time nothing made sense and we hadn’t talked about anything.” _See, I can do mature. Totally._ “THIS time, we’re going to face him and we’re going to be _unbreakable._ ”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Same.” _Because unbreakable means I never have to read another letter like that every again._ “Just you and me. No MotoGP, no Emilio, no well-meaning but not deaf parents…” He smiles into his chest as he feels the older man laugh, before zoning out into a kiss after they decide what they’re going to do, nodding and not long after wrapped around him getting carefully carried up the stairs. _Unbreakable._

*

He downs the last of the beer, nods to himself to psych himself up, and then pushes back through the door, hands on hips and licking his lips. “Santi.”

“Hello…” The older man frowns at the expression before smiling, puzzled, as Marc walks over and gets straight on his lap. “ _Hello._ ”

“Hi.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe a little.”

“So-“

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He smiles slightly at the expression, pressing a finger against Santi’s lips to shh him, before shaking his head and raising an eyebrow. “I’m an adult who’s had a couple of beers. So are you.”

“Yeah-“

“No, listen. You’re being weird. Since Emilio and everything-“

“Marc-“

“Listen to me?” He relaxes into it slightly, happy to be held there and winding his arms round his crew chief’s neck, before biting his lip in that way he knows the older man finds irresistible, eyes round and wide and locked on his. “I’m an adult. I know what I’m doing. And I love you. And I know you know that…”

“Yeah-“

“But you’re not acting like it.” He leans in closer, well aware how captivated Santi is, before pressing his lips against his ear and letting the words make him shiver. “ _You’ve not touched me._ ”

“I have, we’ve made lo-“

“We have.” He nods, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips to underline that, before nipping his lip hard enough to make the point and staring at him again, seduction turned up to 11. “And it’s amazing and nothing compares. But sometimes I want you to _fuck_ me.” He watches the gulp and nods. “Hard, and fast, until I’m screaming and scratching your back and it’s messy and nasty-“

“Marc-“

“Yeah?” He pouts at him again, perfectly aware of what it does to him, and keeps his eyes as innocent as possible. “I’m _right here._ ”

“You know I love you but-“

“Baby, there’s no but in ‘I love you.’” He drops the pout slightly for that, leaning forehead to forehead for a second, before teasing with a little kiss and looking back at him again. “It’s not wrong and it’s not weird and it’s no kind of taking advantage. I love you for who you are but that includes what you can do to me and I miss it.” _I hope I’m making sense._ “I trust you with my life, on the track and here now, and there’s nothing _wrong_ about it-“

“Marc-“

“There’s _nothing_ wrong about it. Please.” Another kiss. “Please baby please just throw me on the bed-“

That seems to finally make him snap, this part of him too locked away in fears awoken by the manager that, despite everything, he’s not even slightly come to terms with, and Marc’s t shirt is on the floor before they’ve even started to move towards the bed, throwing him on it, almost, and trying to force himself to let himself go, Marc’s hand tangling in his hair as his mouth moves roughly over the skin of the younger man’s neck, low groan echoing through the room interrupted by a yelp as he nips the skin and feels his hair pulled in response. He feels that straight in his crotch, quick swell of self-hatred replaced by desperate lust as Marc’s hands fumble with the button on his jeans and pull them down; the rider letting himself relax into the bed, chest heaving, as Santi does the same to him and pulls them off, then boxers, and leaves his own in the pile on the floor before pinning him back down; wish about the be granted and the bead of sweat on Marc’s brow in anticipation making him almost growl into his skin as he kisses and tortures a wet line of saliva down the younger man’s torso, leaving angry red marks he intends to go back and soothe later. He wraps his hand around him, roughly enough to make him yelp again slightly, before working his way back up and feeling himself start to groan as Marc bucks towards him and pulls him in, kiss now tasting more like blood than beer, and trying to control himself enough to fulfil the intention of what they’re doing and give him what he wants; eventually turning him over and pinning his hands above his head, muscles in Marc’s back tensing and shivering at what he’s being promised. _God, please forgive me._ He runs his hands over the skin, still amazed he’s not only allowed to but begged to, before whacking his hand down on his ass and biting his lip at the muffled wail into the pillow, doing it again and again until Marc is wriggling and moaning under him, begging him for more and Santi knowing exactly what he means, eventually giving in and taking a last, half-regretful look at the burning red hand print he’s left behind before tracing his fingers down his crack and pushing one inside, muscles tense around him but hips pushing back against him for more, not giving him enough time to fully adjust before he adds another to a low cacophony of swearing from the younger rider as he realises what he’s going to do and begs into the pillow. He lets his hands go for a second to steady himself as he fucks him with his fingers, eventually finding his prostate and teasing, Marc bucking against the bed until he crosses his hands behind his back and chokes the words out. “PleaseSantiPleasePlease-“

He pins Marc’s hands behind him, spitting on the fingers of his other hand to add a bit of lubrication, before lubing himself the same way and lining himself up, almost groaning just at the sight in front of him. _And you want it, you actually want it-_

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease-“

He thrusts inside without much warning, bottoming out and Marc wailing into the pillow in a mixture of pleasure and pain, and maybe he senses the regret in there somewhere because the younger man nods into the pillow, hips straining back against him again and no doubt at all what he’s asking for, making Santi lose that tiny bit of regret and let himself go again, thrusting roughly a few times and the noise making his hair stand on end, before he moves one hand to tangle in Marc’s hair and pull his head up so he can hear it better, begging started again and string of expletives spilling out in the same rhythm as the one the older man finds with his hips. He’s close, already; desperately trying to hold himself back as he looks down again and the reality hits him, and concentrates on hitting _that_ spot and creating _that_ noise; the one that’s getting higher and higher until it’s a continuous whine as they inch their way towards the headboard. He lets his hands and hair go, fingers digging into his hips instead and pulling him further onto all fours so he can control the pace, Marc hanging his head and groaning again as the skin-on-skin echoes through the room and his fingers clench in the sheets. Santi grabs his hair again to a sharp hiss from the younger man, before slowing it down and concentrating on thrusting as hard and accurately as he can, successfully it seems, because Marc actually _screams_ through a few of them, fingers white and curled in the sheets to hold them some kind of steady. It takes a few more thrusts before they’re back in a rhythm again and he’s wrapping his hand around Marc’s cock, matching the pace and eyes almost rolling back in his head as he knows they’re getting close, before the younger rider’s jaw goes slack and he groans, low and guttural, as he comes over Santi’s hand and starts to collapse, the older man holding him up by the hair as he finishes himself with a couple more thrusts, growling over the edge with him a few seconds later and collapsing on top of him with a grunt. 

It takes a few seconds for either to stir, Marc sticky and squashed and just about able to move, before Santi pulls out and rolls off him, about to head off to the bathroom for another session of staring himself down and wondering what the fuck is wrong with him, before Marc grabs his hand and pulls him back, wrapping himself around him to trap him there and fingers of his other hand playing gentle patters on his chest. “You don’t have to leave, _amor_.”

“But we need to clean-“

“Yeah, we’re _filthy_ …” The younger man tilts his head up to meet his gaze, eyes sparkling with an intoxicating cocktail of evil and adoration, before leaning into a kiss and running his fingers through his hair, voice low. “That was incredible.”

 _It was. But-_ “Did I hurt-“

“Just _perfectly._ ” He lets that sink in for a second before sighing contentedly and nuzzling into him, feeling the calming effect that’s having on the older man, and then pushes himself up onto his hands and pulls back the sheets, expression still half-stoned, grabbing his hand and starting to pull him towards the bathroom. “Shower. Ok?”

“Ok.”

 _We’ll get there._ He pulls him under the water, hands gently massaging in the shampoo, before biting his lip at the emotion badly hidden on the older man’s face and holding onto him for a while, assuring and reassuring and nodding, until he’s finally relaxed and they’re both clean and Santi is propped on one elbow across the pillow from him, talking, normal talking and mood relaxed again, laughs shared and elicited by both, and he dares to snuggle to say one last thing once the light is off.

“I love you when you go slow but I think that was the best sex of my life…” _Don’t flinch, babe._ “ _Thank you._ ”

It takes a few seconds of obvious conflict for the response to come back. “You mean that.”

 _And it’s not a question._ “I will _scream_ that if you let me.”

“I’m trying. To not listen to the-“

“I know you are, and when Santi tries, he usually succeeds…”

“Except for-“

“Yeah except that one time you couldn’t count to ten.” He grins into a kiss before settling down again, this time to sleep. _Just me and you and perfect peace._ “But we’ll forget about that for now…”


	16. Conclusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay... :/ thanks so so much! ♥ - 994527
> 
> Here we go...

Marc: We’re going to tell him in a few minutes. Ok?

Alex: Not up to me!

Marc: No but I’m pretty sure it will affect you :P

*

 _Here we are then._ He knows, the second they even drive onto the drive, that the game’s going to be up. There’s no ‘how should I say it so it seems better’, ‘how do we walk in’…it’s Santi driving, and it’s Marc who’s supposed to be going to meet him. He takes a deep breath and nods to himself, sharing a look with the older man that seems to reflect his own, before Santi winds the window down and presses the button, Marc the one speaking.

“Hi. I’m here.”

_“Hi. Come in!”_

The rider cringes at how happy that sounds, completely unaware of everything, and then bites his lip as they start up the short drive and come to a stop, and Emilio walks out. And stops. _Hi. Look who’s here!_

*

Marc: Can we stay in Cervera tonight? Don’t want to drive back to Andorra.

Roser: You know sometimes you’re more welcome than your brother ;) how did it go?

Marc: Not been yet.

Roser: Oh ok. Are you ok?

Marc: Hmm. I’m ok I think. Santi is pretty nervous

Roser: I can imagine. 

Marc: You really don’t think he’s taking advantage or doing anything wrong?

Marc: Be honest because I just want to understand

Roser: I don’t. I think some things make me nervous – your jobs for start, and the age gap – but he’s a very good person and he obviously cares about you a lot

Marc: Why is that hard to see?

She thinks about it for a while, initial answer a short _I’m not sure_ , before heading out for a smoke and chewing on her lip as it hits her. _Oh God._

*

“What the fuck is this.”

“Nice to see you too.”

“Marc-“

“Thanks yeah I’ll have a coffee.” He brushes past him, giving Santi no choice about following since his hand is trapped in Marc’s, and takes another breath once they’re in the living room. _Here we go._

“Are you serious?”

“About him? Yes.”

“And I am too-“

“Oh, I know _you_ are. How could you not be?!”

“Ok. Look, I know this is maybe a bad idea when you look at it from the outside-“

“It’s a bad fucking idea putting two careers at risk. And you, you should know better.”

“Emilio?”

“What.”

“I’m 22 years old and I’m in love with someone, properly, for the first time. Maybe even the only time. That’s how I feel. Why, _why_ is it such a problem?”

“You really don’t see an issue.”

“I see lots of issues and two people willing to put up with every one.”

*

“Ok?”

“Hmm.”

 _I know that hmm._ Julia mutes the TV and sits up slightly as his wife perches on the edge of the sofa. “Hmm?”

“Hmm.”

“What’s up?”

“Thinking. About Marc and Santi.”

 _Oh dear._ “Ok…?”

“And Emilio and his reaction.”

“Right.” _So no second thoughts, ok._ “And?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever really be able to believe it in some ways, you know?”

“I do…”

 _I know._ She mirrors his slightly shy smile before sighing again. “But they care about each other a lot. And Santi, well…if anything bad had happened or we’d needed help from someone we could trust, he would have been one of the first people we would have called. Same for Marc. And that doesn’t go away just because it got a bit more complicated.”

“It doesn’t.”

“And so I was trying to figure out why Emilio, knowing Santi and Marc so well, would be so against it. I mean, there are obvious things, and it makes his life harder. But ‘Santi knowing better’ and all of that?”

“I know.”

“Well I came to a conclusion.”

“Right?”

She nodded to herself, trying to sound it out in her head before saying it out loud for the first time, and turned back to look at him. “I think he’s jealous.”

*

“I remember the feeling.”

“Yeah you fucking married her-“

“That’s not the same.”

“WHY!?”

“Because it’s NOT.” The manager took a deep breath, conscious of both sets of eyes boring into him, before closing his own and shrugging. “It’s not the same. It’s not the same because the stakes are a lot higher. And Santi was in a position of trust-“

“When I was _fifteen._ I’m not fucking fifteen anymore.”

“No, you’re not. But you’ve looked up to him for a while-“

“Yeah I have and I think I always will. Which was true of you too but I’m not trying to make YOU fuck me in the ass-“

“Marc.” Santi shakes his head, saying something for the first time in the conversation, and touches him on the arm enough to calm him down. “Calm.”

“Yes, I know. And maybe you have a crush, and you think he’s a great guy. Fine. But a serious relationship, and any kind of commitment, is just suicide-“

“Why?! Who the fuck is going to tell anyone?! I’m not. He’s not. My family won’t. I’m guessing you won’t although if you carry on like this maybe selling it will be your retirement fund.” _Ouch._ He winces as he says it, feeling a pang of guilt go through him before the relief of having said it hits and lets him stand a bit taller. _Somehow though I really mean that._ “I have a dad, Emilio. He’s ok with it. He sees I’m happy with him.”

“I’m not trying to be your dad. I’m your manager and I would hope more-“

“That’s what I hoped.”

“I’ve watched you grow up and I’ve watched you change and find out who you are and what you want and what you’re capable of. And I’ve heard you say ‘yes definitely this’ and then change your mind, I’ve heard you crying over girls you really liked, I’ve watched _him_ hug you and pick you back up-“

“Yeah. And now here I am, kind of finished product. Gay. In love with Santi, my crew chief. Nothing able to change that.”

*

“What?!”

“I know.” She bites her lip and takes another breath. “His reaction is so extreme. It’s how yours would have been if Marc was 16 or 17. But he’s not anymore, he’s a man and he’s gay and he’s found someone I know will do a very good job of loving him back. So I can’t think of anything else.”

“You mean jealous of Santi or Marc?”

“Santi. Seeing how they’re relationship has changed as Marc grew up.”

“Oh.” _Urgh._ The thought of that makes him frown, mirrored on his wife’s face as they both think about the reality of it, before he shrugs and shakes his head. “I have no idea but I see why you’d say that.”

 _I was worried you’d say that._ “Because he’s so mad because he never crossed a line and now Santi’s in the picture with everything he wanted.”

*

“Did you have a date set for when you were going to try it or was it just chance?” The manager glared at Santi as the words fired across the space to him.

“What?!”

“I mean it seems like something you’d planned, you know. Was it MotoGP? 20? 21? When was your deadline?”

“You’re being fucking ridiculous.”

“I’m sure. I’m sure it seems that way to you.”

“It does. It’s offensive and that whole train of thought has already fucked up more moments than it should have been allowed to. We’ve known each other a long time. The relationship has changed because we’ve both changed too. That’s how it is.”

“That’s how you’ve made it.”

“NO?! That’s just the way it’s turned out. The kid became a guy I fell in love with and lucky for me he feels the same.”

“Lucky is one word for it.”

 _Oh my God._ He’s standing there, fuming and anger bubbling away trying to form some kind of sentence through the frustration, when he suddenly feels everything click and stares back at his manager, room coming back into sharp focus and words ringing in his ears.

“When was _your_ cut off point? This year? Next year?”

_He’s not actually denying it._

“Or when you thought I’d had enough time to realise I’m gay?”

“Marc don’t-“

The younger rider turns back to Santi, shaking his head to cut him off and taking a deep breath, before they both look back at Emilio and Marc hears his boyfriend’s breath catch as it suddenly makes sense.

_Oh my God I’m actually right._

“We’re going.” He’s already half way out the house, Santi right behind him, before he manages to answer the words shouted after him. _Do you have a job?_ “I don’t know right now and I’m not talking about it right now.”

“Marc wait, I’m sorry-“

“Not now.”

“It’s not how you think-“

He shuts the passenger side door before the older man gets close enough to really do much about it, sitting in silence ignoring every and anything else, as Santi turns round and sets off down the drive, eventually sliding down in the seat slightly and staring up at the roof of the car.

“Ok?”

“No.”

“Ok.”

“Are you ok to drive back home?”

“Which home?”

 _Ours._ “Andorra.”

“Yes. You change your mind?”

“Yeah.” He nods to himself and pulls out his phone to tell his parents. “Please.”

“No problem.”

“It’s really weird.”

“I can’t imagine-“

“I mean…Emilio.”

“It’s the same as-“

“No it’s not the same as you. I love you.”

“Right…”

“I think you’re meant to say ‘I love you too’…”

“I love you too-“

“I know. Sorry. But…I mean…I think just because there was never a clue-“

“You mean I gave you a clue?!”

“Ok after Cheste 2012 at that party I so almost kissed you-“

“ _Seriously-_ ”

“So I don’t know about a clue for you but definitely a clue for me?!”

“And nothing-“

“Never.”

“Do you want to stop talking about it-“

“Yes. Please.” The younger man nods, leaning forward to hit the radio on, before relaxing back into the seat and staring out the window for a while. _Emilio. Of all people. Jealous Emilio. Hot Emilio? Urgh I don’t even-_

“Marc?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to stop for food on the way?”

*

Marc: Change of plan. Going to Andorra. Need some time with Santi. Sorry.

Roser: That’s ok. Are you ok?

Marc: Hmm maybe talk tomorrow

Roser: I was thinking about why he was reacting so badly

Roser: Do you have a conclusion now?

Marc: Yeah I think so but talk tomorrow?

Roser: So do I...

Marc: I doubt it’s the same one

Roser: Jealous.

Marc: Oh.

Roser: Oh dear I'm right aren't I? :/

*

Emilio: I’m sorry I let this get in the way. It’s bad for you and bad for you professionally. I’ve felt like this about you for a couple of years, that’s all. The same as Santi I think. And I really don’t think it would have been a good idea with me, for the same reasons I don’t think it’s a good idea with him

Emilio: Because I think we’re being selfish and you just aren’t able to meet loads of new people and find someone you really deserve

Emilio: I wasn’t trying to ruin it on purpose, I was trying to protect you

Emilio: I’ll talk to you soon, and I hope you’re ok.

The manager puts his phone down, rubbing his hands over his face, and sits back on the sofa properly, half-light still making it just about possible to not have to move to turn the light on. _Of everything I thought could go wrong I really didn’t think this._ He pours another drink, aware it’s a bad idea but not much choice, before turning off the phone and leaving it on the table as he starts towards the stairs. _Please reply. Or maybe, please never reply and fire me like you probably should._


	17. Not Giving Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! Life got in the way for us both. This chapter was always meant to be written by me so it's mostly my fault!

Pain shooting through his brain, the light burning his eyes like he’d been staring at an eclipse for a week, Emilio cursed, fumbling his way out of bed, aiming for the curtains, jumping out of his skin, terrified, when his half opened eyes finally focussed and he realised someone else was there, in his room, “What the fuck?!”

“Good afternoon,” Calm, eerily calm, a simple shake of a head and a frown the only judgement on the state of the place, on the state of him, “Coffee?”

Confused, his brain whirring in a million directions, Emilio tugged the curtains shut, shrouding the room in a darkness that wasn’t truly dark, but was dim enough to take away the pain as he stumbled back toward his bed, “Get out of my house.”

“No,” Defiant, but simple again. Pointed, sharp, and clearly not leaving, “It’s 3pm Emilio.”

“So?”

“So, unless you are ill enough to almost require hospitalisation you are never in bed at this time… And this place stinks.”

Rage bubbling inside his stomach, his personal space feeling violated, aware somewhere at the back of his brain that he was allowing emotions from something else to fuel his anger, Emilio yelled, hurting his own head, “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

“No.”

*

Opening one eye, it sticky and grim, Emilio frowned, confused, the noise of someone in his house weird, but not frightening as he’d never heard of burglars who loaded the dishwasher before. Resting back down onto the pillow, lost in that few moments where everything was good, memories hadn’t come back and life was happy and calm.

The he remembered, everything. Santi. Marc. Marc knowing. The shame washing over him, the fact that Marc knew making his stomach lurch, making tears sting his eyes, and then the anger, remembering who was making the noises, who had set the dishwasher on and who was mopping his floor made him jump out of bed, ignoring the pain in his head as he stumbled along the hallway, “Get out of my house! NOW!”

“No.”

“This is my house…” Grabbing an arm Emilio started them toward the door, before a yowl of pain made him stop, letting the arm fall from his grip like it had scalded him, “I’m sorry… I…”

He only just made the bathroom, his stomach emptying its contents, only bile, no food consumed so nothing else there, heaving over and over, tears and snot leaking from his face as he wondered how this had become his life, how he had become this person.

*

“Coffee?”

Emilio startled, stopping in the doorway, voice tiny, the acid from his stomach and repeated vomiting making his throat hurt as much as his head, “Why are you still here?”

“You need someone to sort you out.”

Looking at them in confusion, his eyes drawn to the arm that he had no doubt bruised, Emilio frowned, “Why? You must hate me?”

“Why must I hate you?”

“Because…” Emilio shrugged, like a scalded child in front of a parent, “Because you know…”

“Your feelings don’t negate all the good things you’ve done over the years.”

“The things I said…”

“You don’t walk away from someone who needs you just because they fucked up. Coffee?”

“Please…” Emilio bit his lip, more tears stinging his eyes, the kindness overwhelming him, “Thank you.”

“Maybe you should have a shower and I’ll make some eggs… It stinks in here…”

“Right,” Emilio’s cheeks burned, knowing what they meant, what they were too polite to say, that it wasn’t just the room, littered with empty bottles, that smelled, “Ok.”

*

“Scrambled egg and black coffee…”

“Thank you,” Sitting down at the table, his stomach rumbling loud, suddenly aware of how long it had been since he last ate, Emilio bit his lip, “I’m sorry…”

“I don’t want to talk about it now.”

“But I…”

“Emilio,” Sharp, but kind, the voice was accompanied by a shake of the head, “We’re not talking about this until you stop looking like you are dying and this place stops smelling like a brewery.”

“Right…” Shamed, Emilio put his head down, forked up some of the eggs and ate in silence, like a scolded child, the other watching him close, making sure the food was eaten and the coffee was drunk.

*

“Thank you,” Emilio put his fork down, smiling gratefully, “I needed that.”

“Good.”

“This place stinks…” Emilio looked around, seeing the mess in stark daylight for the first time, properly looking for the first time in days, “I need to…”

“Ok. I’m in no rush…”

“You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m going nowhere.”

“Right,” Emilio faltered as he stood up, pausing, before deciding to dodge the conversation for now, instead opening the cupboard to pull out a bin bag, going around the room collection the beer bottles, takeaway cartons and wine cartons, shuddering as he remembered the vile, bitter taste of the cheap, nasty wine.

*

“I think it’s clean now…”

Putting down the sponge, having spent twenty minutes scrubbing the sink and worktop, ten that it needed, ten that allowed him to stay with his back to the other, avoiding the conversation, Emilio nodded, peeling off the rubber gloves, throwing them in the bin bag and tying it, “Yes. It is.”

“We need to talk.”

His heart sinking, Emilio nodded again, biting his lip as he took his place back at the table, frowning in slight confusion at the other, “Why are you even here? After everything I did, why are you here?”

“We all fuck up sometimes.”

“I know, but I…”

“Emilio, where would I be without you? Where would I be if you hadn’t sorted umpteen things out over the years?”

Fighting back the tears Emilio shrugged, “I don’t know, but I…”

“I’d be nowhere,” Marc fixed Emilio with a sharp look, “I wouldn’t be a double MotoGP champion, that’s for sure. So I’m not going to turn away and let you drink yourself to death. I’m not saying I’m not pissed at you, because I am. You’ve been appalling to Santi and… Sorry, but I love Santi and I am so angry at you treating him like that.”

“I know,” Emilio closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable, “I know.”

“You should have told me. Or told someone. Or done something… Not that…” Marc bit his lip, holding Emilio’s stare for a moment, before they both broke away, the situation weird and awkward, Marc thinking things he’d never thought before, wondering about Emilio’s thoughts, wondering how long, “We could have dealt with it better.”

“I could have dealt with it better,” Emilio shrugged, wiping a stray tear with his sleeve, “I am so sorry. I don’t know how I can fix this.”

“I don’t know that either right now,” Marc admitted honestly, hating the look of pain that crossed Emilio’s face, “But we need to. It’s not going to be that long until testing begins…”

“Testing?” Emilio frowned, confused, “I don’t understand?”

“Well it’ll be pretty fucking awkward in the garage if we don’t fix it before then…”

“I’m not fired?” Genuinely stunned Emilio leant forward, emotion bubbling in his stomach, “I still have a job.”

“Of course you do,” Marc nodded, struggling with seeing Emilio so upset, “It’s one hiccup.”

“Pretty big hiccup.”

“Admittedly so,” Marc agreed, before smiling, slightly forced, but ultimately genuine, “But we’ll get through it. Rufea tomorrow?”

“Erm, yes. Sure. Why not?”

“Good,” Marc stood up, glancing around, “Maybe take it easy tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Emilio nodded again, tears in his eyes, hope given, “Thank you Marc.”

“See you tomorrow.”

*

“Hi!” Banging the door shut Marc kicked off his trainers, nudging them close to the wall as he chucked his keys on the table before padding into the lounge, Santi on the sofa, reading a book, the vision making him smile, “Hey…”

“Hey…” Marking his place with the bookmark, Santi looked up with a smile, “You’re back late, where have you been?”

“I…” Marc faltered slightly, before shrugging, biting his lip, hoping the response would be less negative than he expected, “I went to see Emilio…”


	18. Fallout

“I can’t just walk away from him…” Marc shook his head, indignant, “I don’t want to fight with you, but…”

“But?” Santi almost spat the word, his tone bitchy, his dark eyes almost black with fury, “ **But** what Marc? **But** Emilio is more important to you?”

“No!” Voice shrill Marc stepped closer to Santi, almost crying when the older man stepped back, keeping the gap between them wide, feeling like a gulf, shaking his head, “No-one is more important than you… You know that…”

“I thought I did,” Genuinely hurt Santi shrugged his shoulders, voice breaking, “That was before you went sneaking off to the house of another guy that you know is in love with you.”

“He’s not another guy, he’s Emilio…”

“Emilio, who is in love with you. Emilio, who tried to split us up,” Clenching his jaw, his contempt for the older Spaniard spitting out from him, “ _Repeatedly_ …”

“Santi,” Marc stepped forward again, reaching for him, his voice pleading, “I _really_ don’t want to fight with you…”

“You lied to me… You said you were going to see Hector and you went to Emilio…” Closing his eyes as Marc stepped closer still, the younger man’s arms snaking around his waist, moving until their chests were touching, Santi went rigid, the familiar scent of Marc; cologne, shampoo, petrol and rubber wafting into his nose, making his fists clench, desperate to touch, but too furious, “Marc…”

“Don’t fight with me… Please…” Pressing his lips to Santi’s neck, his head resting on his shoulder, Marc whispered the words against his skin, brushing over the line where soft skin met stubble, “ _Please Santi_ …”

“I’m too angry…” Not moving, fearful of the rage taking over, wanting to _ruin_ Marc, Santi shook his head, “Marc I…”

“ _Please_ …”

The plea, accompanying hot breath on his skin, snapped the last piece of resistance in Santi, his hand flying to Marc’s hair, pulling him roughly until their lips were mashed together, his tongue pushing into Marc’s mouth, marauding around, taking control, the desire and need to remind Marc, to reclaim him, overwhelming as he fisted his free hand in Marc’s shirt, hauling it up, breaking apart only long enough to yank it over his head, cast aside like a rag as he pulled the younger man to the floor, eyes blazing as he sank his teeth into Marc’s neck, branding him once again.

*

“Santi…” Chest pressed against the floor, the tiles cold and hard on his knees, Marc wailed as Santi’s tongue licked over his hole, his fingers gripping his cheeks hard, leaving fingertip bruises as he held him apart, exposing his most private place, tongue hot and wet as it flicked against him, licking over and over and over, stopping periodically to press against him, like he was determined to literally lick him open, making Marc howl, the action promising and threatening in the most glorious way.

*

“Please… _Santi please_!”

Pouring more lube down Marc’s crack, grateful for the wayward tube still down the side of the sofa, Santi pushed two fingers into him slowly, twisting and turning them, brushing his prostate with the lightest of touch, doing everything slowly, infuriatingly slowly for the younger man, his cock leaking drops of pre-cum onto the floor as he writhed, desperate for some friction, “Patience…”

“Santi… _Please_ Santi… Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasesantiplease…” Throwing his head back as Santi’s fingers crooked and found his prostate, nudging it over and over again, taking him closer and closer to the edge, Marc almost screamed, Santi’s free hand finding his cock, fingers wrapping around him, sliding up and down him, slippery with lube and pre-cum, pistioning in and out of him until Marc did scream, his world flashing bright as his balls tightened and everything was glorious, release rushing over him, warm and comfortable, hot cum splashing onto Santi’s hand, “Oh… Fuck… Ohohfuck…”

Pushing his pants out of the way, Marc pliable, like warm wax, Santi lined himself up, biting his lip hard at the sensations and sounds as he pushed in, bottoming out in one thrust, Marc wobbly, barely able to hold himself up as Santi let go, rocking into him hard, catching his prostate on every thrust, drawing screams and wails as his fingers dug tightly into his hips, skin slapping against skin as Santi cursed, Marc’s relentless clenching heat around him hauling him to the edge quickly, not long before his balls tightened, he grunted, hands moving to Marc’s shoulders, arching his back, thrusting hard four more times before exploding, cum filling Marc, nothing between them as they slumped to the floor, Marc whimpering as Santi pulled out, cum leaking from him, the air hot, smelling of sex and the only sound that of them trying to catch their breath.

 


	19. Fallback

_Oh wow._ The younger pushed himself up on his elbows slightly, forehead shiny with sweat, and stretched back to sitting, feeling the drip down to his balls make him shudder again and glancing to the right where Santi was on his back staring at the ceiling, nothing else actually said. _You have to understand, right? When you're not threatened and you're calmer, you HAVE to understand._ He smiled softly as the older man's gaze met his, way too much guilt in there _again_ , before lacing their fingers together and manhandling him to his feet, nuzzling into him for a few seconds until he pulled away and started pulling him away.

"Come on, let's shower. We'll clean that up later."

*

Marc: Check in?

Emilio: Please don't...

Marc: I don't have time to come round there today unless you lie to me

Marc: In fact, photo of the kitchen within 2 minutes or I am coming round

Emilio: Clean, sober, and going through emails

Emilio: _Media content in this message_

Marc: Good, I'm glad.

Marc: And I'll never give up on you, thought you knew that. You never gave up on me.

*

"Hey. Don't lie so far away." He whispered the words out between them before placing his hand on the older man's arm and waiting for a sign. "I miss you and you're right here, babe."

"Hmm." It was more a whimper than a contribution to the conversation, Marc realising why as the older man tried to talk and it choked out. "S-sorry."

"Hey, shhh. Don't be upset." He pulled him in, burying Santi's head in his chest and lips pressed against his ear, letting his fingers play on his back before breathing an internal sigh of relief as the older man clung on instead of pushing him away. "You know I love you to death. You know that."

"Hmm."

"And you know it's only you I've ever said that to. And only you I will say that to."

"I k-know." Deep breath. "I know but I can't stop thinking-"

"You have to." He pressed a kiss in his hair and then moved down to be face to face across the pillow, eye contact making his chest constrict again. "You have to stop worrying and just listen to me when I say that. Please. And you HAVE to stop feeling like this when we have sex like that." The word 'sex' seemed to make him grimace again. " _Amor_ , I love you and that seriously includes what you do to me. So maybe today you needed to let yourself go but so did I."

"You couldn't even get in bed without wincing-"

"No, I couldn't." Another peck on the lips. "I don't want to. I know you don't get it but I wish you did. I love the pleasure and pain when you do that to me. It just feels like nothing else in the world. It's perfect. Maybe today neither of us had great reasons for needing that, but here we are. In our bed, in our relationship, talking about our life. No one else."

"I don't understand why you like it."

"That doesn't matter. All you have to know is that I'm already hard right now thinking about it..." He smiled to himself and the tiny glint back in Santi's eye and then leant forward to catch him in a kiss, a proper one, tangling them together and letting their tongues take the slow, patient route, until he moved on top of him and stared down. "I love this too. Usually more. Just feeling you there makes me crazy."

"Marc, I don't think we should-"

"Yeah we should. Just this time, be gentle. Because we're doing it for different reasons." 

*

Emilio: Check in. Sober and clean, and getting a lot of stuff done. And I miss you, if I'm allowed to say that.

Marc: Morning. :) good! Yeah of course, even without anything else it's weird not seeing you. Miss you too. We need to meet up in the next few days I guess to deal with some business stuff anyway.

Emilio: We do, I didn't want to push. And how is Santi? Is he ok with that?

_He doesn't know but I'm not doing anything wrong talking to my manager._

Marc: He wasn't happy I came to see you but we're good now. And don't worry. Let's do somewhere in Lleida, neutral. Yeah?

Emilio: Ok, perfect. I'm sorry if I've caused you any pain, Marc. You know that?

Marc: I know. And I'll let you know when.

*

 _God I wish this wasn't weird. And I wish I didn't know how to unravel everything your eyes are saying when they look at me like that._ "Ok...I, er...I need to get back. Ok? I'm having dinner in Cervera."

"Sure. Ok."

"Ok. And, er...I just...I'm glad."

"Glad?"

"Glad we have something to build on and that this was a little weird but not so weird. And glad you're still here."

"Ah." The older man nodded and looked away slightly, shrugging and taking in a deep breath before he looked back. "Well you know I'll never be anywhere else. As long as you can deal with it, I meant it. I mean it. I mean...how I f-"

"Ok, I know. I know. And sorry, but I have to go." He pulled on his jacket, trying to steer that conversation away from them as quickly as possible, before they managed a brief goodbye and he got back to his car, swearing slightly at life and starting the engine. _How you feel. Funny how you go from gay loneliness to everyone in your life suddenly coming out with 'I love you's._

*

 _Urgh._ He cracked one eye open, back at home and Santi fast asleep next to him, before feeling his heart rate spike as he looked at the caller display. _Oh no._ He headed for the door as quietly as possible, closing the door to the bedroom behind himself and then padding quickly down the stairs before pressing 'connect' and trying to mentally prepare himself.

"Hello?"

_"I'm sorry to call you, I just-"_

"It's ok. What's wrong?"

_"I just got the divorce papers through. Forgot I hadn't opened the post yet..."_

_Oh, God._ He sat himself down a bit too heavily on the bottom step before running his free hand over his face and sighing. "I'm so sorry."

_"You're not the one who has to be sorry. I am. To her, to you...everyone. To myself for being such a fucking mess. What happened to me? What made me think-"_

"Are you drinking?"

_"Yeah I'm drinking and I'm writing you a letter of resignation."_

"No, you're not. Come on-"

_"I can't do this anymore. I can't-"_

"Are you at home?"

_"Yeah, but-"_

"I'll be there as quickly as I can. Put the bottle down."


	20. Fall Down

"Hello? It's me." He shut the door quietly, half worried it had been unlocked and half glad because it made life easier, and followed his common sense down the hall to the living room, pausing in the doorway and then leaning on the frame. _God where did that guy go who made us feel invincible._ "Hello. It's me."

"Hello, me."

"Thought I told you to stop drinking."

"I thought I told you I didn't work for you anymore."

"I'm not here as your rider. I wasn't the first time and I'm not this time. So put the bottle down and we can talk about it."

"How is talking going to fix anything at all."

"I don't know right now, but I know drinking won't."

"I don't know, it's fixed tonight ok."

"Yeah seems like it." He walked in properly, sitting down next to the older man on the sofa and then reaching out to grasp his fingers around the neck of the bottle, both of them looking at their hands so close together. "Let go."

"That's what you should be doing."

"Stop with the talking bullshit and let go of the bottle." He tried to pull it away and then felt the frustration bubble up enough to finally just yank it. "Now."

"Marc, please just stop. Please just walk away and let it happen, and I'm sure in a few months or years I'll be able to really sort myself out again. It's not your responsibility-"

"No, it's got nothing to do with responsibility. It's because you mean a lot to me and I don't want to see it happen. So this?" He held up the bottle and then got to his feet, walking over to the patio door and pulling it open before starting to pour. "Is out. Right now."

"Don't say that."

"Say what?"

"That I mean a lot to you. I don't-"

"Sorry I'm not trying to give you false hope-"

"No, I know." He shared a sad laugh with the ceiling before sighing and rubbing his hands over his face, finally looking back up at him and feeling his breath catch at the sight. _God, you're gorgeous. Perfect, even._ "I know that. I know it will never happen. I just mean I don't deserve however much you care-"

"Ok, if you really know that I'm with Santi and I love Santi, I'm going to be honest, ok?" He moved back inside and sat next to him on the sofa, arm going round him and resting their heads together side to side, Emilio trying to bite his lip at the emotion and Marc feeling a little sliver of relief at allowing himself to tell him. "You're one of the most important people in my life. Regardless of anything. I thought you knew that. Yeah, you do a good job and yeah, we've both done well out of this, but it's not normal and it never has been. I need you in my life, somehow. You're the one who always gets the balance right between sense and whatever you're feeling...you know? You have my back but not to the point of being blind if I'm an idiot. And this is killing me." He pulled him into a hug, feeling himself start to choke up a bit and letting him cling on, before clearing his throat and carrying on, voice low and closer to the older man's ear. "It's killing me, too, so maybe partly why I'm here is selfish motivation. But you're more than this. I promise. You have to make a choice like the one you gave me when I was whining in 2011 and one person had the balls to just tell me to my face how it was. You remember?" 

"Of course I remember-"

"All I wanted then was to do the exact opposite of what you told me. And I didn't do that, because you asked me not to. Now I'm asking you the same thing, ok?"

"O-ok-"

"Ok. So sleep, yeah?" _God forgive me, or rather Santi._

"I will. Go home and I will-"

"I don't believe you." The younger man got up first, pulling him up and standing face to face for a second, before he leant in and pecked him on the cheek, taking his hand and pulling him towards the stairs. "I'm sorry that's true but I don't believe you. Just don't say anything else, ok? Trust me and it'll all be better tomorrow."

He pushed him into the bedroom, instructing him to get changed and brush his teeth, before disappearing to let him do that in peace and coming back a couple of minutes later with a big glass of water, Emilio sat in the bed and taking it willingly, eyes not meeting his as he drank. _The guilt is going to kill me but I don't know what else I can do without telling someone else about this._ "Lie down. Sleep."

Marc got up from where he was sat on the side of the bed, toeing his shoes off and dumping his socks, before pulling his hoodie off to be dropped on top of them and then getting in the other side, light switched off.

"I'm not holding your hair back in the morning." He hoped the edge of sarcasm was judged well enough to break the obvious shame and then smiled to himself in the dark as a hand squeezed his arm and the other side of the pillows moved in a nod.

"To be honest, I think I lost the wig. And thank-"

"Go to sleep."

*

Santi: Where are you? I'm so worried. Please let me know.

Santi: Marc?

Santi: Marc?

*

Santi: Do you know where Marc is?

Alex: No, sorry! Not with you?

Santi: He was when we went to sleep...

Alex: Oh :/ I don't know. Not at home?

Santi: Are you not?

Alex: No I'm not ;)

Santi: Oh ok ;). Just asked your dad and he says not

Alex: I don't know then. I'm sure he'll be back in a bit. Probably running or something

Santi: In a Honda?

Alex: Who knows, but don't panic

*

_Oh dear._ He bit his lip as he read through the messages, him awake far before his manager and phone on silent next to him, before wondering what to say and then taking the gamble and feeling guilt crash over him.

Marc: Sorry I'm at home, will be back soon and explain

Santi: No you're not because I asked around when I was worried

_Oh, fuck._ He felt his breath quicken at that, wondering what the hell to say and cursing the little white lie and good intentions, and then closed his eyes for a second to figure out how to say it.

Marc: I don't want another fight with you and I don't want you to feel hurt

Marc: But I'm at Emilio's house. He got divorce papers and had a breakdown and I came to help

Marc: I'll be home soon and I love you. X


	21. Broken

Alex                                         Where are you?

Alex                                         Answer your phone

Alex                                         Seriously Marc it’s urgent!

Alex                                         Marc ffs! This is important.

Bleary eyed, not having planned on falling asleep, kick of guilt hitting his stomach as Emilio snuggled into his side, the older man still asleep, Marc swiped his phone screen to listen to his voicemail, presumably from his impatient brother, his eyes widening as Alex spoke.

“It’s me, where the fuck are you? Look someone has broken into the house… …It’s… Well… It’s not good mate. Lots of things are smashed up. I’ve called the police, they’re sending someone round. Just call me please!”

Sitting bolt upright Marc’s blood ran cold, not noticing that he’d disturbed Emilio, the older man groaning at the movement in the bed, his head thumping. Biting his lip hard Marc’s hands shook as he opened the message from Santi, praying it was about his house, that it was informative, that everything was ok…

Santi                                        Fuck you. Fuck all of you.

“Fuck… Oh fuck…” Panic building inside him, Marc got out of bed, moving into the hallway in bare feet, pulling the door slightly closed he dialled Alex.

“Thank fuck! Where are you?!”

“Never mind that,” Marc cringed at the sound of Alex’s voice, his brother obviously panicking, “How bad is it?”

“It’s bad… It’s like someone has gone ballistic…”

“Shit,” Almost crying Marc clung to the hope for a second that it was a random break-in, before Alex’s voice robbed that hope from him.

“It’s weird though, from what I can see there’s absolutely nothing missing… Not the tv, not your iPad, not the Playstation… It’s just… … all smashed up… The police should be here soon.”

“No!” Marc almost shouted, “I don’t want the police in my house.”

“But…”

“No,” Trying to calm himself, Alex’s suspicions already high, Marc sniffed back a tear, “I don’t want them in the house, I… I don’t trust them…”

“Marc, someone…”

“Look what happened with the _private_ application for residency… I don’t want photos of my house or details of my address leaked everywhere,” Trying to think quickly, ignoring the curious look from Emilio, who’d got out of bed looking like death warmed up, Marc tried to hide the panic in his voice, unsuccessfully, “Just call them, tell them I had a party and you didn’t know.”

“Seriously?” Alex sounded incredulous, his brother’s words baffling him.

“Please, Alex just, **please** …” Marc almost cried, knowing his pleading was pathetic sounding, “I’ll explain later…”

“Ok… But you’re explaining this later… And where the fuck are you? Where’s Santi?”

“I’ll explain when I get home. Don’t touch anything…” Cancelling that call Marc tapped on the screen until Santi’s number appeared, holding it to his ear as it rang and rang, before his call was unceremoniously rejected, the older man obviously not willing to speak to him.

“What’s going on?” Sounding decidedly rough Emilio winced at the loudness of his own voice, “Why has Alex called the police?”

“Someone trashed my house…”

“Right?” Emilio frowned, trying to work out if it was his hangover that made that not make sense, not that anything made sense when he could barely remember why Marc had been in his bed, “Why would you not want the police called?”

“Because…” Marc chewed his lip hard, almost choking on his words, “Because it might have been Santi… I lied to him about being here…”

“Marc…” Emilio felt sick, the desperate look on Marc’s face painful for him, the idea of causing the younger man trouble making his stomach flip unpleasantly, “You should go…”

“I…”

“Marc,” Firmer, falling back into his role, that somehow automatic when Marc looked so lost, “Go home, sort your house out… I’ll be fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise…”

*

“Holy fuck…” Marc’s eyes were wide like saucers, glass crunching under his feet as he moved to the middle of his lounge, everything that meant anything cracked, dented or obliterated, “Jesus.”

“So…” Standing at the doorway, watching his brother’s face, Alex raised an eyebrow, “You going to tell me what is going on?”

“Yeah…” Not really listening Marc’s body tensed as he looked at the unit, a particular photo missing, his eyes drawn down to the floor, it’s frame face down, “ _No…_ ”

“Marc?”

“Please no,” Bending down, tears pooling at the corner of his eyes, Marc picked up the frame, a sob escaping his throat as the photo, once a happy image that tool pride of place on his unit, fluttered to the floor, torn into tiny pieces, reducing Marc’s voice to a whisper as the horrid possibility of what had happened was confirmed, “ _Fuck_ …”

“Marc?” Crunching over the glass, moving to the side of his brother, now a sniffing bundle, on his knees, ignoring the tiny shards digging into his skin as he frantically tried to put the photo back together, like a weird jigsaw puzzle, Alex put a hand on his shoulder, “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Santi,” Looking up at his younger brother Marc looked broken, his eyes full of tears, his teeth biting into his lip, trying to hold back the pain in his chest, “I broke Santi… So he broke my house.”

“Santi?” Alex laughed, shaking his head, “No way, why would Santi break your house? I _really_ think you should call the police.”

“I was with Emilio,” Marc looked down at the floor, pieces of the photograph, once a snapshot of the three of them – Emilio, Santi and him – celebrating his first MotoGP title, an image of a moment that meant everything to all of them for so many, and varied, reasons, “We fell asleep…”

“Oh…” Not judging, just caught off guard, Alex floundered slightly, “When you say _with_?”

“Just sleeping,” Marc looked up, his eyes begging to believed, his voice small, “I wouldn’t do that… I wouldn’t do that to Santi.”

“I know,” Dropping down to his knees, arms going around his brother, feeling guilty for even asking, Alex kissed his hair, “I’m sorry, I know, I know you wouldn’t. It’ll be ok, we’ll sort it.”

“It won’t,” The dam of tears breaking, his words coming out in choked sobs, Marc clung to his brother’s arm, everything drifting away from him, “I’ve lost him. I was trying to help. To fix things. And I’ve lost Santi.”

“You don’t know that,” Shifting to get comfortable, sensing they wouldn’t be going anywhere soon, Alex tucked the crying wreck of his normally strong brother under his chin, still not entirely surely about the prospect of _Santi_ having trashed Marc’s house, “It’ll be alright. Sssh.”

*

Sat on the balcony, hoping the cheap looking balustrade was stronger than it looked, Santi pulled his hoodie around him, the sun starting to set, building a chill in the air, before taking another swig of whisky from the bottle. Reaching into his pocket, discarding the hotel receipt over the edge, he pulled out the photograph, one third of it ripped into pieces and left in Marc’s house, and began to sob, their smiling faces seeming to reach out of the paper and stab him in the stomach, everything there so happy, everything now so broken.


	22. Five More Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay... Would love to know what you think of this one.

"This is the last one..." Bringing another black back, sixteen of them full of broken and ripped things, out to the bin Alex looked at his watch, "Shall I go get some beer?"

Looking at the bags, clearing the house having taken them the best part of five hours once he'd stopped crying, Marc shook his head, "I'm not really in the mood. Sorry."

"No need for sorry. What do you need?"

"Santi back..." Marc shrugged at his brother's sad look before sighing, "I know... I think I just want to go to bed to be honest."

"We can do that."

"I'd rather just be on my own please," Marc shook his head at Alex, cutting off his brother's protestations, "I'm ok. I'm sad and hurt and angry, and confused because I think looking after Emilio was the right thing to do... But I just want to be on my own now."

"Ok," Alex conceded, not happy, but aware of how stubborn his brother could be as he was exactly the same, "I'll go stay at Jose's, but I'll be back in the morning, yeah?"

"Yeah," Marc nodded, accepting the hug offered, "Thanks for your help."

"Pfft no thanks required. Call me if you need me. Anytime."

"I will," Sitting down on the step as Alex dashed inside to grab his phone and keys Marc let out a long sigh, his head spinning with everything that had happened. Waving as Alex left, his car tyres crunching down the gravel before pausing, then crunching again as the gate opened, Marc put his head in his hands, "How did this even happen?"

*

_**23 New Messages** _

_You again._ Glancing at his screen as his phone pinged again Santi flicked up his middle finger, the bottle of whisky almost finished, still sat on the balcony, alcohol insulating him against the cold, "Fuck you Marquez. I hate you...." _I love you. I hate you, but I love you._

_*_

Marc                           Can you come please?

Emilio                          Are you ok?

Marc                           Please. I need your help.

Emilio                          What about Santi?

Marc                           Santi hates me. Please.

Emilio                          Are you hurt? Is Alex closer? Answer your phone!

Marc                           Please just come.

Emilio                          I’m on my way.

*

 _Please be ok. Please be ok. Please be ok._ "Marc?" Pushing open the door, nerves coiling around in his stomach, like he'd swallowed a pit of snakes, Emilio paused, waiting for a reply, "Marc, are you here?"

"Up here!"

 _Please be ok._ "Are you ok?" Taking the stairs slowly, something making the hair on his arms stand on end, Emilio stopped outside Marc's bedroom door, pausing before pushing it open, "Marc?"

"Emilio!"

 _Jesus Christ._ "Marc... what are?" Turning away, Marc sprawled on his bed completely naked, far too many bottles from the wine cellar having been imbibed by the younger man, the proof next to the bin, red splashes on the wall where the remnants had landed when he'd tried (and failed) to chuck them into the bin, Emilio took a few deep breaths, "You need to put some clothes on mate..." _Fucking hell. Fuck. Please get dressed._

"Why?" Rolling onto his stomach, his head on a pillow, Marc wiggled his arse, drunk desperation making his words more slurry than sexy, "I thought you'd like me naked.... Do you not like me naked?"

 _Oh god yes. More than anything._ "No, I don't like drunk naked people... Put some pants on Marc..." Steadfastly keeping his back to Marc, Emilio's stomach lurched when a small glance left found himself looking in a mirror, the view of Marc sprawled on the bed, everything on show as he tried to get up, making him almost whimper out loud, "I'll go and make some coffee..."

*

"Why did you run away from me?"

Jumping, standing in Marc's kitchen waiting for the coffee machine to create it's magic, Emilio had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard the younger man stagger down the stairs. Turning Emilio's heart sank, Marc's hair askew and his eyes puffy and red, "Marc..."

"Do you not like me anymore?" Sadness etched in his face Marc looked younger than his years, "Nobody likes me anymore."

Shaking his head Emilio bit his tongue hard before speaking, "Marc..."

"Not in trouble," Marc shook his head, his eyes getting glassy, "You only use that voice when I'm in trouble... I don't want to be in trouble."

"You're not in trouble..."

"Don't you like me anymore?..."

 _Oh god. Please stay over there. Out of reach._ "Marc, it's not..."

"I need someone to like me. Someone to love me," His bottom lip trembling, Marc blinked, his long eyelashes mesmerising, "Am I not lovable anymore 'Milio?"

"Of course you are lovable Marc. It's just..." Words swallowed by Marc, the younger man almost sprinting across the room, mashing his mouth to his manager's, his tongue trying to push in, desperate and begging. _God you are...._ " **Drunk...** " Pushing Marc back, his hands on the muscles of the younger man's arms, his brain screaming about the beautiful definition, Emilio shook his head, for both his and Marc's benefit, "You are drunk. You don't want this."

"I do! I do want this... See..." Rubbing himself against Emilio's leg, Marc's voice cracked, panic setting in, "Santi doesn't want me. He hates me. You want me, don't you?"

"Marc this isn't fair..."

"Santi smashed up my house, that's not fair. I didn't do anything wrong. I just helped you. So now you have to help me..."

"I will help you," Firming his grip, keeping Marc at arms length, literally, Emilio shook his head, "But not like that. That wouldn't help." _It'd be fucking amazing, but it wouldn't help you._

"Fine. I'll find someone who will help..."

*

"Marc?" Pushing open his charge's bedroom door, Marc having stormed off, Emilio's heart broke, the young man curled up in a ball, still clad only in boxers, the sound of his sobbing muffled by the pillow his face was pressing into, "Oh Marc..."

"I've lost him..." More wailing than speaking, Marc let out an aguished sob, "It hurts. It hurts so bad."

"I know it does," Getting onto the bed, the switch in places as he pulled the younger man into a hug, tucking his head under his chin, not lost on him, Emilio sighed softly, "Love does suck."

"Emilio..."

"I'm not fucking you..." Brushing Marc's hair off his forehead, his own heart breaking, Emilio pressed their foreheads together, "If I thought for a single second you wanted it then... But you don't and I wouldn't do that to you. I'd never forgive myself."

"I do want it.. I do..." Leaning up to press a kiss to Emilio's mouth Marc huffed when the older man turned his cheek, "Am I that ugly?"

 _Christ no. You are the most beautiful creature on the planet. The muscles rippling under your skin. Your eyes. That mouth, christ that mouth._ "You're not ugly Marc, but you **are** drunk."

"Will you fuck me tomorrow when I'm not drunked?"

Swallowing hard at the big eyes looking up at him, asking, almost begging, as he bit his lip, Emilio wanting to do nothing more than **ruin** him, Emilio ran a hand through his hair, "Let's deal with tomorrow when tomorrow comes."

"You sound like my Dad sometimes Emilio," Marc chuckled, hiccuping and chuckling again before he settled down, snuggling into Emilio's side, "Night."

 _Ouch. He's right though. You are old enough. That's how he sees you. He's just drunk tonight._ "Goodnight Marc."

*

Lying in the dark, his clothes and shoes still on, Emilio listened to the sound of Marc breathing. The younger man finally sound asleep, half draped over his manager, his head on Emilio's shoulder, hair tickling Emilio's chin. Moving his hand on Marc's back, the stroking action having helped calm the younger, Emilio checked himself, stilling his hand, blushing in the dark at the silent admittance that he'd been touching Marc's back for longer than he needed, the feel of the warm skin and taut muscle under his fingertips sending his brain whirring.

_Stop it. This is hell._

_And it's hell you deserve. It's your fault he's here. Don't you dare betray his trust. Even if he hates you for it._

_Get out of his bed. It's not your place. It's Santi's. He loves Santi._

Holding his breath as Marc stirred, his arm tightening around Emilio's waist, Emilio let out a small sigh as Marc settled back down. 

_Five more minutes. Just five more._

_For him._

 


	23. There Is That

_"Go away."_

The groggy voice and insistent refusal to open the door made Emilio sigh again, changing which side he was leaning on and clearing his throat to talk through the door again. "Marc, I'm not going anywhere. You didn't, so why would I."

_"This is different. Please, just go-"_

The manager cringed as he heard that dissolve into a coughing fit and then listened to some more wretching from the younger man, before heading downstairs and then back up before knocking on the door again - glass of water in hand. "Right, I know the lock is broken and-"

_"So am I."_

"I'm coming in." He took a deep breath, ignored the protest, and then opened the door and stopped. "Water. Please drink it-"

"Don't want it."

"Marc, you have-"

"I don't have to do anything." The younger rider turned away again, resting his forehead on the toilet seat, before taking a shaky breath and then looking back; voice much hoarser. "Can you just-"

"Not this time, no. Because I'm doing what's best."

"Seriously-"

The older man crouched, handing out the water, and then smiled at the look on Marc's face as he realized what it was, voice going quieter. "You know given everything it's not you who has to be embarrassed-"

"Um...I begged you to fuck me and now I have my head in the toilet."

The matter of fact, deadpan and completely serious tone cut through the air for a second as they both stared at each other, before something suddenly seemed to snap the tension and they began to grin, and then giggle, before collapsing in a heap as Marc held himself just together enough to not throw up again.

"Ok, you got me. There is that."

*

S: I'm sorry x

*

*

"Better?"

"Yeah." That honest face that made him look 12 again. "Thank y-"

"Don't. Now you think you can eat?"

"Maybe."

"Ok. I made some food, we'll have that and see how it goes and then-"

"And then talk about it. Right?"

"Um...I was going to say watch TV and drink more water."

"Oh." The little impressed face soon melted into a smile, embarrassment dying a little more each minute, before Marc pulled himself to his feet and creaked his way over to the kitchen, pasta already cooked and waiting. _I see now why it was such a big thing, maybe. Because it feels very special to have someone you love show you the same in return._ "Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything."

"Can you stay over tonight-"

"Marc-"

"No. It's ok. Not, er…not like last night. Ok…" _Deep breath._ "Last night would be amazing but I know that's not something I can ask. I just mean sleep in the house-"

"Ok."

He nodded at that, taking another breath, before picking up some pasta on his fork and looking at it a bit too intently. "You know I actually don't want him back."

*

S: I'm so so sorry for what I did to your house. Marc, I'm so sorry.

S: I miss you like hell

S: And I love you...

*

"Are you asleep?"

"Hmm." The mumble was low enough to sound like a yes but unhappy about it; Emilio on the armchair near the bed until Marc went to sleep, something in the younger man no longer in physical pain but still very, very fragile.

"Can you get in the bed?" Nothing. "Please-"

"Marc, I told you-"

"It's not about him, or sex." He let that sit there between them for a few seconds before turning on the bedside lamp and sitting up, frowning and ruffled and completey ridiculous- "I just want to feel like someone cares-"

"You know I do more than that-"

"Also someone I care about. To be here. Ple-"

"Marc."

"I'm not trying to fuck you. I promise." The younger man struggled more upright, yawning and then managing to look him in the eye, before he looked back down at the bed again. "It's not about forgetting him it's about forgetting what he did and reminding myself that not everyone is going to-"

"Ok." _I'm going to regret this._ "Ok, but put a t shirt on-"

*

S: Please reply to me baby. I love you and I'm sorry

S: Just anything. Let me talk to you or explain

S: I love you

*

"You awake still...?"

"Hmm." The older man nodded in the dark, feeling the mattress move as Marc did and the younger man curled around him, and then pressed a soft kiss to his hair, something different about it and that old, easy peace to it where everything just clicked. "I'm here."

"Will you promise me something?"

"Anything."

"If this is too much, tell me?"

"Too much..."

"If you can't be like this, or-"

"When I say I love you, it's not because I want to fuck you." The words made him blush slightly, although he knew that was stupid because it was _Marc_ , before he moved slightly to make them fit together better, words whispered low into the rider's ear. "I love you and what that means is that I want to put you first, always. And maybe sometimes I make mistakes and I've got a bit lost...but I'm here for you. Always." He ran his fingers through Marc's hair as the younger man clung on slightly, and then pressed another kiss into his hair again. "So no, it's not too much. In paradise it wouldn't be enough but I'm here, I always will be and I'd like here forever if it helped."

The Honda rider was quiet for a minute, letting that sink in and giving Emilio a squeeze, before pulling away just enough and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "I think sometimes I forget how lucky I am, don't I."

*

S: Marc, please baby. It's been a week...Please just say something

S: I love you and I miss you...and I'm so so sorry. Please

M: Hi. Thank you for saying sorry. You should do because it was a big mess and it's ruined a lot of stuff. For my part, I'm sorry if I dealt with some things wrong. Now though I would like it if you'd stop sending me messages. I loved you and I still love you, of course I do, but it's not that simple anymore. I should have helped Emilio and I'm glad I did and I can't apologise for a lot of things. I really wanted this to work and it's broken my heart, but I can't deal with this anymore. I don't think we can get past this because I don't recognise the person who did this, and I thought I knew you inside out. I know you love me and I dont doubt that, that's not what it's about. It's just that I don't think we can be perfect again because it was only perfect before we found out we were lying to ourselves a bit. I want you to be happy, and I want you to have everything you want. But I think this is over and we should try and make it a clean break. If you want to talk about it a bit, ok, but I'm not going to change my mind and I don't want to start getting raveled up in it...I've decided I'm going to be on my own for a while and figure stuff out. Love, Marc x

*

Marc: Hey. Do you want to bring Junior Alzamora to Rufea tomorrow? We're going over and we could do some laps :D

Emilio: Hello stranger...good to hear. Feeling a bit better?

Marc: Yeah thanks. Sorry I've been a bit quiet...just thinking a lot through. 

Emilio: I understand. Tomorrow sounds great

Marc: :D ok! I split up with him btw

Marc: Properly

Emilio: I'm really sorry, Marc. Which I know probably sounds like I'm lying, but really. I'm sorry it didn't work.

Marc: I know. Me too. And thank you for everything. Don't know how I would have got over those couple of days. 

Emilio: Sounds familiar. 10am tomorrow?

Marc: Perfect. I've really missed you.

Marc: I'm sorry if that's not helpful to hear...I'm not trying to play with you. I need to be by myself for a while and think, but I don't want you to think I don't care.

Marc: You know how important you are. Sorry I'm a bit drunk and rambling. I'll see you in the morning x

Emilio: See you tomorrow. Sleep well x


	24. Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like buses these chapters ;)

“Hello!” Clicking the door shut behind him Alex kicked off his shoes, more habit than manners, “Marc?”

Padding into the lounge, grateful to find no more smashed up things, Alex frowned; Marc’s phone on the coffee table, his jacket carelessly slung over the back of the chair and his car parked outside all suggesting he was home, but the house silent, silence not something usually associated with his brother, “Marc, are you here?”

Striding up the stairs, the grin on his face growing, the dulcet tones of his brother’s snoring filtering down the stairs, Alex chuckled, “You’re a lazy bastard Marc Marquez! Do you realise the time?”

Opening Marc’s bedroom door with a flourish, Alex stopped, his feet stuck to the floor, the image in front of him taking time to filter through his brain, somehow unrecognisable and confusing, until he processed it, righteous anger surging through him, “What the **fuck** is this?

*

Standing in the kitchen, his back leaning against the worktop, his arms folded, Alex’s face was fixed, his features not moving as Marc and Emilio padded into the room, his eyes judging their every step, “Decide to get out of bed today did we?”

“Nothing happened,” Shooting his brother a dirty glare, Marc pressed the buttons on the coffee machine, Emilio hovering by the door awkwardly as Marc turned to him, “Cappuccino?”

“Erm…” Torn between staying and fleeing, Emilio swallowed, Alex’s glower fiercely defensive, “I…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Turning away from the machine, Marc pointed at Emilio, then the chair, “You sit there… Alex, you sit there… And stop fucking glaring!”

Shaking his head, Alex’s face could have curdled milk, “I’m fine where I am thanks.”

“Nothing happened Alex, I swear,” Sitting on the chair Marc had pointed too, Emilio ran his hand through his hair, “I know it looks…”

“It looked…” Snarky and sarcastic, Alex shook his head again, “…like our half naked manager, who _just happens_ to be in love with my brother, was in bed with said brother, who was also half naked, and just happens to be having a very tough time right now… All of a sudden you are coming to Rufea again, you are at events again, you are in the bar when he’s drinking again, and now you are in his bed… Someone cynical could think it was very convenient for you that Santi has gone away for a while…”

“Alex,” Snapping slightly, the tone sharp, Emilio’s guilt written all over his face, Marc shook his head, “That was uncalled for.”

“Was it?”

“Yes,” Putting Emilio’s coffee on the table, Marc sighed, “I asked Emilio to come here. I… I needed someone to talk too.”

“You could have called me,” Hurt, and still distrusting, Alex unfolded his arms, pushing his hands in his pockets, “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I just…” Pressing some more buttons, making his own favoured, ridiculously strong, coffee, Marc shrugged sadly, “I don’t know. I just wanted to speak to Emilio. Nothing happened.”

“You swear?” Accepting Marc’s nod, Alex looked back at Emilio, still not fully believing the story, “Emilio?”

“I know that I behaved badly…”

“You treated Santi like shit,” Blunt, ignoring Marc’s sharp look, Alex shrugged, “Now he’s gone, and you’re here… You’ve got to see how that looks?”

“I do,” Emilio nodded, fidgeting with his cup, Alex’s words almost echoing some he’d had in his own brain, “I wouldn’t take advantage of your brother like that.”

“You better not…”

“Yeah, ok superhero…” Marc put his own cup on the table, shaking his head at Alex, smirk pulling at his lips, quiet Alex turning tough Alex always amusing to him, “I’m not some delicate wallflower that needs protecting you know…”

“You’re not,” Alex nodded, agreeing, “But you are not half as tough as you think you are so…”

“Will you just unknot your panties and have a coffee. Nothing happened. Nothing is going to happen. So just chill…”

Pulling his hands free of his pockets, Alex pressed various buttons on the machine, cursing as the display flashed up an error, “This fucking machine…”

“It’s not the machine,” Leaning back on his chair, Marc pressed one button, coffee filtering into Alex’s cup, “It’s you… It’s like that time you had the row with the DVD player…”

“Don’t start…” Alex batted the back of Marc’s head, laughing, “Panties? What kind of word is panties?”

*

“Sabbatical?”

“Yes,” Feeling uncomfortable under Livio’s steely gaze, Santi fidgeted, “I know the timing is…”

“The timing, Santi,” Livio leant forward, his arms on his desk, his face quizzical, “Is, to be frank, fucking appalling… Your rider is midway through a MotoGP season, a season where he has a chance at the title…”

“I know,” Looking at his shoes, wondering if his laces had always looked disorganised, Santi shrugged, tears pooling in his eyes, “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“I know,” Sitting back, baffled by the request, Livio sighed, “I’ll speak to Marc. Ultimately if he says yes then… It’ll be a sabbatical though; I’m not releasing you to work elsewhere. I don’t care how fractious it’s getting at Yamaha, I…”

“No,” Santi shook his head, looking Livio in the eye, “I’m not going anywhere else. I swear. It's nothing, nothing like that. I just… I just need some time away.”

“Ok,” Believing the other man’s words, Livio nodded, “I’ll speak to Marc.”

 


	25. Party With Me

Standing on top of the fire engine, chuckling at his mother’s yelled ‘be careful’, Marc clapped along in time to the chants; his team and Alex whipping the crowds into a frenzy, his title being celebrated by thousands lining the streets of Cervera. Everyone yelling as the first red firework exploded in the sky, Marc looked up, smile plastered on his face, determined to enjoy the night.

*

“I want a word with you…” Grabbing her younger son’s collar, Roser frowned, only half serious, “I’m sure, in 2014, you and I had a conversation Alex Marquez…”

“Mama…” Theatrically drunk, Alex patted her on the head, his team around him combusting in hysterical laughter, “In a _whole_ year we had a **lot** of conversations…”

“Fire engines, Alex,” Fighting back the giggles, the sight of Alex truly drunk only beaten in the funny stakes by the sight of Alex hungover, Roser shook her head, “We had a conversation about no more standing on fire engines when drunk!”

“Oh Mama…” Sighing, Alex shrugged his shoulders hard, “He is sad Mama. He won and he’s still sad. Fire engines make him happy. So I got fire engines!”

“Hmmm…”

“I’m a **good** brother Mama,” Serious, Alex nodded, proud of himself, “He smiled Mama. So the fire engine is good.”

“If you say so…” Chuckling as Alex wandered off, probably to chat to someone else that he wouldn’t dare utter a word too sober, Roser looked around the room, the party having moved to the hall, her gaze fell on Marc; deep in conversation with someone, laughing as he always laughed, yet his face not quite lighting up like the face of a newly crowned world champion should.

*

“Thank you.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Thanks.”

“Hi! Thank you!”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey! I know, another one!”

“Thanks for the support.”

“Thank you, much appreciated.”

“Thanks!”

“Mama…” Moving along the line Marc grinned as he reached his mother again, hugs from somewhere who’d truly been there from day one always massively more meaningful then any of the other plentiful hugs, “Thank you.”

Wrapping her arms around her eldest, Roser blinked back tears of pride, the year more turbulent than anyone on the outside could ever imagine, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t Mama,” His voice laced with emotion, Marc pulled his mother tighter, his head leaning against her, “Thank you. For everything.”

Rubbing his back, getting her emotions under control, Roser stepped back, her eyes glassy, but serious, “Enjoy it.”

“I will.”

“Marc,” Holding his arms, just for a moment, Roser looked at him, the look saying so much, “Enjoy it. This is your title. Celebrate it how **you** want.”

*

“No, no, no…” Looking to Roser for help, shaking his head when none was forthcoming, Julia found himself dragged onto stage, Alex and Marc making the crowd chant his name, giving him no choice, but to join the elaborate, and confusing, dancing game that had been dreamed up by someone who obviously had no shame.

*

“You could probably sneak away now…”

Turning, jumping slightly at the voice having been engrossed in watching the crowds from the window, Marc frowned, “Mama?”

“I’ve seen you win several titles now son,” Looking out the window, some fireworks still going off in the distance, Roser smiled sadly at Marc, “I’ve never seen you so sad before…”

Shaking his head, a bottle of beer in his hand, other hand in his pocket, Marc tried to smile, “I’m not sad Mama… It’s just…”

“It’s not the same?”

“No,” Marc bit his lip, the admittance hard, admitting it to himself the hardest thing of all, “It’s not the same.”

“So why are you still here?”

“Mama?” Marc looked confused, his brow furrowed, before looking around at the crowd, “All these people…”

“All these people love you. They want you to be happy,” Roser smiled, “And they have all had their piece of you for this year. Now it’s time for you to do what’s right for you.”

“What if I’m wrong?” Running his hand through his hair, everything feeling sticky thanks to the champagne his team had attacked him with, Marc shook his head, conflict written all over his face, his voice shaky, “What if I make a decision and then it’s not the right one?”

“Then you’ll work it out,” Roser smiled kindly, “What if you do nothing and you spend your life regretting it? Is that a better prospect?”

“I don’t know,” Marc’s honesty hit Roser square in the chest, the conflict and sadness spoiling his day, the fear of being hurt holding him back, “I just wish I know one hundred percent what was the right choice.”

“Do you every know one hundred percent about anything? About a line into a corner? About what flight route to take? About what to have for your dinner?” Roser wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulder, resting her head, “Nothing in life is guaranteed Marc, you of all people should know that. We all make choices every day and, yes, we have to live by those choices, but we get through it. No matter what it is we get through it.”

“If it was just me…” His attention diverted by his brother, Alex dancing, his long limbs and alcohol consumption making it look more like a seizure than a dance, Marc chuckled, “He’s so relaxed.”

“He’s enjoying himself. It’s a good party. Everyone should be here, enjoying themselves.”

“Some people aren’t here. _Some people_ had something else to do tonight.”

“Did they?” Questioning him, ignoring the bitter tone that would normally earn him a reproachful look, Roser raised an eyebrow, “Or did someone just think that the best thing for **you** was for them not to be here?”

“Maybe…” Left pondering as his mother wandered away, joining his father in conversation with their neighbours Marc looked around; the square full of people he knew, friends and family, colleagues and staff, everyone he loved or respected there, for him, to celebrate his victory. Everyone except one.

*

“Alright, alright!” Opening the door, clad just in jogging bottoms, he turned down the television, frown on his face as he opened the door, “What the… Marc?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Waiting for the taxi driver to drive off, the conversation definitely private, Marc bit his lip, emotion cracking his voice, “You should have been in Cervera. Celebrating. Celebrating with me.”

“Marc,” Leaning against the doorframe, the older man sighed, shaking his head, “I had…”

“No,” Marc shook his head, “No more bullshit.”

“Marc…”

“I miss you.”


	26. Mariposas

He took another deep breath, sudden swell of nerves now he was actually stood in the house, and nodded at the offer of wine, brush of fingers against his as he took the glass making him shiver. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. It's nice to see you."

"You too." The formality made him blush and smile to himself, realizing he was only awkward because he had that glorious feeling back in his stomach. _Hello butterflies. So you guys think I'm right._ "Sorry, you know I needed to kind of…get my life back a bit. For me."

"I know."

"So I did that…" The younger man took a sip and then looked out the window towards the garden, some of it lit in the darkness and one outline of a palm tree visible at the end. "And I thought about everything, and…you know…let it sink in a bit."

"Good. If nothing else, I guess now everything is a bit clearer-"

"Yeah a lot's a bit clearer. You know what the craziest thing is?"

"No…"

"The craziest thing is that I forgive him, and I loved him, and I'm glad we had a while together." The younger man looked back at him then, eyes suddenly locked together, and gave him the tiniest shrug. "But I don't want that version of the future anymore. Someone else was missing from the parade in Cervera."

"Huh." The little, almost unavoidable reaction noise gave him away slightly, heart pounding in his chest like an extremely extreme title celebration party, as something in Marc seemed to send a shiver through the air. _Keep your voice steady._ "So…" _Surely-_

"So I'm gay and so was my crew chief. He broke my heart and now he works with my brother. Totally normal." Another sip and a smirk. "And somehow that's ok. I kind of get it. I guess maybe, in the end? He was just right."

 _Are you kidding._ The older man leant back further against the kitchen unit, trying to take on enough oxygen as the possibilities started to whirr, before blinking to try and refocus on the reality. "Right..."

"Yeah. Maybe he was threatened by the right person and the right reasons, just…I don't know. At the wrong time. Which sounds-"

"Marc are you seriously-"

The Repsol Honda rider put his glass down and moved across the space between them in a heartbeat, signs coming back to him all making him relax that nothing had really changed for the older man, before letting his eyes move from Emilio's to his lips and back, drawing the moment out.

"Why do you think I'm in your kitchen?"

*

Marc: Thank you for everything you said x

Mama: Always welcome. You ok? x

Marc: Very happy. Made a very good decision and I hope you can be happy for us: pic.jpg

 _Wow. Ok-_ "It's Emilio." She looked up at her husband, eyebrows raised, and then turned the phone round to show him the picture. "I thought-"

"So did I..."

Mama: We love you. Hope you know what you're doing. In a good way x

Marc: I really, really do. x

Mama: Then yes, we're really, really happy for you x

*

"You seriously-"

"I love you. I did before, maybe not quite like now. Why do you think I was there when-"

"That's different-"

"Yeah, it was. Now it's different again. More. I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop looking at you…wanting you. Wanting to not have to control myself all the time. And I know this is something we can't take back but I-"

"Marc-"

"Listen." He took Emilio's hands, lacing their fingers together, before leaning into him and almost letting his lips brush his manager's as the older man's eyes closed. "I don't know if we'll work, but I will do anything for you to let us try."

 _Jesus._ "You mean that. Everything. Committed-"

"Everything. Committed. Just you, and me."

"Yes."

That seemed to finally break the paralysis of knowing that the next step was over a line that couldn't be un-crossed, suspended reality suddenly clicking back into gear, before their mouths crashed together and they ended up tangled pressed up against the fridge, both panting and Emilio shivering as Marc's eyes seemed to pull every single fantasy out of his brain and agree to them all.

"Take me to bed. Please." The more vulnerable tone of please saw some of the mischief melt away, all his guard down and that sending a shiver of fear through him as his brain managed to remember all the reasons why it could hurt, but everything else screaming for it. _It could. but it could also-_

 _I love you so much, this can't be real._ The older man nodded, pressing a brief kiss on his lips, before running his hand through Marc's hair and smiling at the way the younger man leaned into it. "You want to stay here? Maybe a few days? Get some peace?"

"I would love to." The little sideways smile took over again as he suddenly realized what he'd not said in the specific words, braving it out and taking a deep breath. "I-I love you."

The older man stared back a second, this ruffled and perfect being somehow in his kitchen and saying those words to _him_ , before leaning into a softer, slower kiss and smiling as Marc boosted himself up to hang onto him, legs wrapped round his waist as they made their way towards the stairs and the kiss got deeper again. "I love you, too."

*

In all the times he'd imagined this, it didn't really come close to the reality. Marc, in his bed, tangled up in him and somehow no rush as they kissed and kissed and kissed, clothes gradually disappearing. Lights on but low enough to give everything that perfect glow, skin slowly starting to be revealed. Hours in the gym as he'd tried to learn how to put himself first and invest in himself paying off so beautifully ironically as the younger man's fingers ran over his skin, never going to be the perfection he was tasting in Marc Marquez but a slightly different man to the broken one the younger rider had picked back up what seemed like a century ago. The little noises he made as he moved and responded to every little touch, the desperation that seemed to get a little more as they gradually ended up closer and closer and skin-on-skin.

"Please."

After what seemed like hours of silence and teasing, lips nibbled and friction not enough, the word suddenly broke it and made the manager pull Marc on top of him, fingertips digging in and kiss deeper as their hips pushed together and made each other gasp, before the older man ran his fingers down Marc's crack and the moan in response sent an electric shock down his spine. He'd always imagined this as something that would feel dirty somehow rather than like this, maybe Marc now truly someone he looked at on a level rather than the kid he'd watched grow up when it had seemed like something against the rules, and he groaned in return as the younger man pushed back against him in a silent plea, everything in sync and the next noise to escape him more a whimper as Emilio started to work him open, fingers gentle and trying to control his own desperation, adding some more lube and finally feeling the kiss interrupted by a nod as the younger rider's fingernails dug in to pull them together. "Please..."

He let the word wash over him, everything, he realized, still real, and then steadied his hands on Marc's hips as he slowly sank down onto him, pushing his head back into the pillow at the feeling and groaning as the younger rider did the same, before Marc leant forward to capture him in the kiss again, hands steady each side of Emilio's head and nibbling his lip to make the point, everything understood as the manager dug in his fingertips again and guided their movements, slow at first as he thrust gently and almost pulled back out, Marc moaning and pushing himself down again, getting the angle right and groaning into the older man's mouth as he hit his prostate and thrust again, the rest of reality now a distant memory as they found the right rhythm; thrusts slow and deep as the fluid moment of the older man's hips pulled them apart and pushed them together, both closing on the edge and then backing off until they were covered in sweat and tangled up.

There was no real signal, both seeming to feel it at the same time, before Emilio suddenly thrust harder and dug in, Marc responding with a wail and drawing blood from the older man's lip, swearing and low moan getting interrupted as the manager pounded into him and then back out, desperation taking over for both and rhythm getting quicker, the younger man's arms almost unable to hold himself up. He half collapsed on Emilio's chest and buried his head in his neck as his arms locked around him to trap him there, the older man letting himself go and snapping his hips, until the low groan from the younger had become higher and higher gasps as they got close to the edge again, sinking his teeth into his manager's neck as the older man moved one hand to wrap around his cock and tugged him over the edge, muffled mewl almost lost in his skin as Marc shuddered and spilled between them, leaving Emilio to finish himself off with another few rough thrusts before he did the same and dug his fingernails in to hold the younger rider steady.

After a few long seconds watching the ceiling swim back into focus, the older man gently pulled out, Marc whimpering at him in protest before he pulled him into a kiss and then watched his eyes open, wondering if the same expression was on his face.

"Congratulations on your title. I realised I didn't say that yet."

Marc smiled at him, something even more lighting up on his face, before a whispered _thank you_ got lost in another kiss and the younger man snuggled into him.

_The butterflies were definitely right._


	27. As It Should Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well what to say... Sorry it took so long to get here! Life got in the way for both of us. This has been a crazy journey, the plan has been abandoned at least twice, and finally here we are... Liz may add to this at some point, but from both of us thank you so much. For staying with us, for encouraging (and threatening) and for reacting. It's been a brilliant, crazy and fun journey. I have absolutely loved working with Liz - a true pleasure x

Leaning against the fridge, Marc in front of him, both of them shirtless and wearing comfortable joggers, Emilio sighed; the happy, contented sound swallowed up by Marc’s mouth. Letting his tongue roam around the younger man’s mouth, Marc’s chasing him in a lazy game, Emilio let his hands slide Marc’s back, his fingertips having mapped every inch of lithe skin and muscle the night before, until they were resting on Marc’s ass.

One hand in Emilio’s hair, Marc let the other one trace down his face, the tips of his fingers tracing the skin, imprinting every curve and bump to memory, his jaw aching from kissing in a way that was more glorious than he could ever have imagined.

“Wow…”

Jumping apart, like two teenagers caught out, Marc’s mouth opened and closed twice, words stuck in his throat, praying his joggers were hiding the constant hard-on he seemed to have around his manager, “Alex…”

“I came to check on Emilio…” Looking at his manager Alex held up the key he’d been given, him the one entrusted to keep an eye on the older man when Marc needed some space, “You didn’t answer…”

“I was…” Blushing hard, Emilio closed his eyes, feeling like he _should_ want to apologise, but not feeling the slightest bit remorseful or regretful, “Alex…”

“It’s ok,” Putting his key on the work surface, Alex nodded, his attitude different, perhaps a little weird, but no anger on his face, “I… Erm… Well… I’ve seen two couples kiss like that before… The first was Mama and Papa, and I **do not** ever want to speak about _that_ again… And Casey and Adriana, that day we had the garage tour and we learned to knock.”

Chuckling, his cheeks going pink to match Alex’s as they remembered that day, Marc bit his lip, his brother’s opinion normally the most important one to him, “I told Mama and Papa last night…”

“Ah,” Alex shrugged, his face saying ‘ _I wish they’d shared_ ’ as he laughed, “I assume that was _before_ Mama discovered the non-alcoholic cocktails she was guzzling were in fact _alcoholic_ …”

His eyes widening with glee, their mother drunk and extremely rare occurrence, Marc cackled loud, “No way!”

“Way,” Alex nodded, shaking his head in amusement, “She accidentally walked in on Jose Luis in the bathroom and said ‘ _lucky girl´_ in a tone that made Papa cross… And she made a midnight feast of wraps with baked beans, feta and beetroot…”

“Eww!” Pulling a face, Marc leant back against the fridge, relaxing, “I’m staying here for a few days.”

“Good plan,” Alex pulled a jokey face, “And I’m never walking in without an invitation again…”

“Good plan,” Marc laughed, curling into Emilio as Alex gave them a wave and walked back out, “I’m so glad he wasn’t five minutes later…”

“Why?” Emilio frowned, confused, before groaning as Marc dropped to his knees, his hands tugging on Emilio’s joggers, the older man running the fingers through Marc’s hair, the other going to the worktop to steady himself, Marc’s wicked tongue making his legs weak.

*

"Hi..." Wandering over to the fence, everything ok yet still awkward, Marc nodded toward the track, Alex filming a new advert, "Think he could go any redder around that model?"

Laughing, feeling on edge, not wanting to do or say the wrong thing, Santi shook his head, "Nope..."

"I'm glad you are here actually," Marc pushed his hands in his pockets, honesty important to him, "I wanted you to know a couple of things... I forgive you for trashing my house."

"Marc, I..."

"Let me finish..." Polite, but firm, Marc folded his arms, both of them still facing the track, face-to-face still awkward enough that they both avoided it, "You were out of order, trashing my stuff wasn't fair, but I understand it. Now, I didn't then... I've done a lot of thinking, if it wasn't such a wanky phrase I'd say I was _finding myself_..."

Santi chuckled, the sound low and familiar, "That **is** a wanky phrase."

"Fuck off," Marc elbowed the older man, shaking his head, "You were wrong, at the time, you were wrong..."

Santi turned his head to the side, nodding slowly as he took in Marc's words, "I think it was inevitable."

"I don't know," Looking up, the smile on his face not gloating, just a reflection of his feelings, Marc shrugged, "I don't know how things would have been different, but I do know how they are now... I wanted you to hear it from me."

Nodding his head, the sting not as strong as he expected, time perhaps the healer everyone said it was, Santi smiled, "Are you happy?"

"Yes," Marc grinned instinctively, "I love him. I did love you, I don't want you to think I didn't..."

"I know..." Santi shrugged, a figure appearing down the paddock making him smile, Marc catching the look and tilting his head, "I think we were what each other needed at the time... The catalyst maybe... I got divorced, no more lies; if I have someone then I want it to be proper..."

"If you have someone?" Turning around, seeing the figure watching them, watching Santi, Marc turned back with a smile, "Don't trash his house..."

Having the manners to blush slightly Santi nodded, "I won't... Thank you for sorting the job with Alex."

"You are good crew chief, probably the best... I never wanted to take everything from you..." Marc nodded toward the figure waiting, "Are you happy?"

"Yes," Santi nodded, answering without hesitation, the relationship new and different, but no lesser, "Very happy."

"I'm glad," Marc smiled, genuine and warm, "All I want is for everyone I love to be happy."

*

“Sorry…” Accidentally nudging the other man as he shuffled into the pew, Santi cursed silently, hoping the apology would be the end of it, the person he’d bumped into the very worst person he could have picked to bump.

Nodding, knowing how important it was to Marc and Alex that they had some sort of truce, Emilio smiled, “Never imagined this day when we were plotting world domination…”

“No,” Santi couldn’t help, but laugh, the situation almost absurd all things considered, “No, we did not.”

Shaking his head, time passing not making the fact that Marc wanted **him** any more unbelievable, Emilio sighed softly, “It’s funny how so much has changed in some ways, yet in others it seems like it hasn’t changed at all…”

“I think the world has changed beyond recognition…”

Tilting his head, accepting that that was true; Alex openly gay, Marc neither admitting nor denying anything (his champagne-fuelled statement that it was no-one’s business what made his dick hard the most quoted MotoGP rider statement of all time), both of them happy and joking together at the aisle, Alex waiting for Guille, their road considerably less bumpy, Emilio smiled, “I suppose it has… At the end of the day though we are still the two standing here, worrying that they are going to break the peace with _that_ laugh or that they are plotting something.”

“True,” Santi chuckled, turning to Emilio, things never discussed between them, “You said at Alex’s stag do that your biggest regret was that I hate you…”

“I don’t really think here is…” Smiling at Franky, the Italian slipping into the pew next to Santi, the cover of being Alex’s teammate enough to get him an invitation, “Hi.”

“Hello,” Nervous, being around the Marquez camp still feeling awkward, all of them polite, sometimes painfully so, but still weird, Franky relaxed with a brush of Santi’s hand against his.

“I don’t hate you…” All of their eyes trained forward as Guille and his brother emerged from the side room, Alex’s beaming smile lighting up the room, Santi glanced to his left, “I did, but I don’t now… I’m just glad he’s happy.”

“I’m glad,” Smirking as Alex broke the plans and started the ceremony by kissing Guille, to the hilarity and amusement of his cackling brother, Emilio tilted his head to the side, “If Guille’s hand moves any lower then Marc will be looking for a new crew chief because Roser is not looking impressed…”

“From what I hear if Roser ever walks in on you doing what you were doing to her son on Monday again then they’ll both be looking for a new manager…”

“Well,” Emilio went bright red, his spluttering cough attracting a glance from Marc, the younger man frowning briefly, before the sight of Santi, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter, passing Emilio a handkerchief, made him nod, his eyes going back to his brother, everything, finally, as it should be.


End file.
